


The Stars, They Shine

by captainbunnicula (kradarua)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Actor!Dean, Alternate Universe - College/University, Astronomer!Castiel, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2018, First Kiss, First Time, Gay Panic, Homophobia, M/M, Minor Castiel/Meg Masters, Minor Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester, Misappropriated Christianity, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Theatre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-08-23 00:42:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 52,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16608566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kradarua/pseuds/captainbunnicula
Summary: Engineer-in-training Dean Winchester just wants to work on cars. Astronomer Castiel Novak spends his time holed up in the school’s observatory looking at the stars and trying to piece together his dissertation. They’ve never had any reason to cross paths.Not until they get roped into participating in the college theatre group, anyway.When Lisa invites Dean to join her at the mass meeting, he can’t say no to a pretty face. But the joke is on Dean when he accidentally lands the male lead and has to come to terms with memorizing lines and trying not to make a fool of himself on stage. Moreover, despite his best attempts to stay interested in Lisa, there’s no denying the strange gravitational pull he feels around Castiel.Castiel is just here to prove to Charlie that he’s capable of doing something besides research; it should be easy, except he finds himself becoming interested in Dean in a way he really did not expect.Dean is trying to navigate being way outside his skill set; Castiel just wants to hold onto his scholarship without pissing off the religious organization that gave it to him. It’s going to be a long semester, especially if Dean keeps forgetting his goddamn lines. The show must go on!





	1. Wednesday, October 31 Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> IT. IS. HERE.
> 
> A wandering creativity ghost dropped the original ideas for this on my lap three (3) entire years ago and it is now, f i n a l l y, coming into existence. This is also my first completed DCBB. Please applaud.
> 
> I am still coming to terms with the idea that no matter how many times this gets combed over letter by letter, there will always be at least one typo. That said, loads of thanks to my wonderful beta [firefly124](https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefly124/pseuds/firefly124) for enduring all my continuity errors, incorrect word usage, and gaping plot holes to help me pull this story together. Seriously, it wouldn't be what it is without you. <3
> 
> This thing also wouldn't be complete without [EmmalenaGrace](https://emmalenagrace.tumblr.com)'s OUTSTANDING art. Her work alone is reason enough to leave kudos. EmmalenaGrace, it was a pleasure working with you and I'm honored that you were interested in bringing my story to life. I hope we get to work again sometime. <3 
> 
> Enough from me for now; keep an eye out for additional blathering in the end notes.
> 
> Happy Reading!

_This must be what people mean when they say their heart is going to beat out of their chest._

In a hysterical whirl of thought, Dean decided that was far too gentle a description for what was currently happening to him. His heart wasn’t beating out of his chest; it felt like it was clanging and banging and _crashing_ its way through bone and sinew in a valiant attempt to escape his ribcage. He heaved air clumsily in and out of his lungs as though he’d just run a marathon and his face and neck burned so hot with humiliation he feared he might combust. The sudden increase in blood flow and the ragged breathing to match made Dean’s head spin, and for one wild moment he feared he might pass out. 

And wouldn’t _that_ just add insult to injury.

In his defense, it seemed he wasn’t the only one having a hard time. Across from him, Castiel Novak breathed harshly and looked exactly the way Dean felt: absolutely disbelieving, something between furious and confused, and thoroughly embarrassed. The pool directly next to them threw blue light across Castiel’s face and his wide eyes stared at Dean from beneath a creased brow. His stance was aggressive; feet apart, shoulders squared, fists clenching and unclenching and re-clenching. Their combined heavy breathing and the water lapping innocently against the sides of the pool were the only things breaking the silence. They were just waiting for something, for anything. 

It was Dean who moved first. After half a minute that felt like forever, he turned on his heel, snatched up his bag, and crashed through the gym doors before taking off across campus. The sprint to his apartment barely registered; the next thing he knew he was jabbing his keys shakily into the lock, twisting them too far one way, swearing as he jerked them back the other direction, and finally stumbling his way through the heavy wooden door, which closed behind him with a loud thud.

He blinked against the sudden darkness. No light came from underneath the first door on the right, the door that led to his brother’s room. Sam wasn’t home. 

Dean kicked off his sneakers carelessly and walked the few steps to the couch, his bag sliding off his shoulder to land with a muffled _flump_ against the worn carpet. He made to sit but changed his mind halfway through, choosing to slide all the way down to the floor and rest his back against the firm front of the couch instead. There was nothing to hide from; he hadn’t even turned on any lights, but his hands came up to cover his face anyway as he tried to make his brain piece together what the hell had just happened.

Arguing, they had been arguing, Dean was pretty sure. About what? He remembered raised voices but not much context. Castiel had gotten up in his face and growled that Dean had no idea what he was talking about, that Charlie was his best friend and the situation— _what_ situation?—was more complicated than Dean understood. Dean had shouted back that the situation, whatever it was, _couldn’t_ be so complicated that Castiel was willing to let his ‘best friend’ suffer; either Castiel could sort things out or Charlie deserved better friends. Castiel’s lip had curled into an ugly sneer and he’d jabbed that maybe Dean should try to memorize his lines before sticking his nose into other people’s business, and then—

He remembered feeling furious, enraged enough to punch Castiel square in the jaw. He remembered reaching out, grabbing a handful of fabric and yanking Castiel forward by the collar of his shirt, glaring back at fierce blue eyes and an angry scowl to match his own. He remembered clenching his other hand into a fist, ready to slam his knuckles against Casti-asshole’s stupid face.

But the sight of Castiel stumbling away after receiving a well-deserved punch was not forthcoming, nor was the satisfaction that would have come with it. Several important wires must have gotten crossed along the way, because instead of punching him, Dean had...he’d…

Jesus Christ, he’d _kissed_ _Castiel Novak._


	2. Tuesday, September 4

_“Dean._ If you don’t hurry up and get ready, I’m leaving without you. _”_

Wordless grumbling grew gradually louder as Dean shifted under the covers and finally shoved them away from his face, propping himself up on one elbow and peering blearily at his brother. Stupid Sam with his stupid t-shirt and track pants, stupid stopwatch, stupid discipline, stupid-

“Dean!”

He groaned and leaned back against his pillow briefly before flinging the covers off and stumbling to his dresser. 

“I can’t believe I agreed to this,” he groused, pulling on the first t-shirt and pair of loose shorts he found. Seven in the morning really was far too early, especially since he didn’t have class until ten. 

Sam huffed impatiently. “It’s good for you, Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes and made a mocking face that Sam couldn’t see, smiling to himself at his secretive teasing.

“And it also means you get to leer at that yoga class that’s been practicing on the soccer field every morning for the past two weeks.”

The smile fell off Dean’s face and the tips of his ears felt hot. He grabbed his keys and shoved Sam’s shoulder on his way out of the room.

“Let’s go, bitch.”

“After you, jerk.”

One of his lungs had collapsed, Dean was sure of it. Every breath hurt and he mentioned as much to Sam in between wheezes. 

“Dude, we’ve only gone three miles.” Sam continued to jog in place.

“Only?! Sammy, I’m just trying to stay in shape, not run a marathon!” Dean placed his hands behind his head as his brother had told him to if he was having trouble catching his breath. Something about opening up the chest or whatever.

“C’mon, let’s just do one more mile. If it makes you feel any better, your time has improved since last week.”

Dean let his arms fall back to his sides, grinning. It did make him feel better, actually. Bracing himself and taking a deep breath, he accelerated back up to a steady jog.

Sam was right, Dean supposed, about his motivations for letting his giant health freak of a brother convince him to go jogging (Sam called it jogging. Dean was pretty sure this was not jogging) in the mornings. The ladies were incredibly hot and very bendy from what Dean had seen when he wandered by an outdoor yoga class a few weeks ago. He had gone back past the same place, hoping to get another peek at the stretchy women in tight shorts and sport bras, but they were nowhere to be found until one glorious morning when Sam had come back from his run and casually mentioned that Dean could see the yoga class again, if only he would come running in the morning. And here he was.

So he wasn’t a saint with entirely pure motives. Whatever.

Dean redirected his attention to the path in front of him as Sam, about twenty meters ahead, disappeared around a cluster of trees as the path curved to the left. Dean huffed a relieved breath and pressed on with renewed vigor; that bend meant that the campus soccer fields were up next, and that was where the yoga class had been setting up.

_Ah,_ there they were! About fifteen women spread out on their yoga mats in one corner of the field, being led through the kinds of poses that would break Dean in half by their instructor, Lisa Braeden.

He’d had a few classes with Lisa here and there in the process of fulfilling the humanities credits all engineers needed to graduate. He didn’t know much about her—in fact, they’d never said more than a few words to each other—but Dean thought she was beautiful, all dark hair and dark eyes and kind smile.

He stole side glances at the group as he passed by, trying to keep his form clean and his wheezing under control. He might not be able to put his leg behind his head like that, but he could at least show off all the running he’d been doing lately.

Sam was considerably ahead now, clearly intent on finishing his mile strong, but Dean didn’t mind falling behind if it meant that he got to appreciate the view a bit longer. He watched as the group followed Lisa into a lunge before wrapping their arms underneath their front legs. Sam was always pushing him to stretch after running but even his basic instructions had Dean’s hamstrings praying for death—

All of a sudden he was blinking dazedly up at the sky, his ears ringing and his shoulder and tailbone throbbing painfully.

“What the _fuck_?”

The voice was angry and rough and came from somewhere near Dean’s solar plexus. He sat up, grimacing as his head spun, and found the source of the voice to his left. Another runner was peeling himself up from the ground, sweeping dirt from his limbs and hissing when he brushed over reddened scrapes. Dean scowled at him.

“Seriously, man?” he snapped as he stood, rotating his hurt shoulder carefully, “Ever heard of watching where you’re going?”

“I _was,_ ” the guy said coldly, glaring back at him, “But my sincerest apologies; I should have predicted you’d lose focus and start drifting into my path.”

“I didn’t—“ Dean started, looking around and noticing that he had, in fact, drifted quite a bit to the left. He felt his face heat up and was glad he was already flushed from running. “Look, whatever. My bad, okay?”

The other runner glared, shooting a derisive “Pay attention next time,” over his shoulder as he tucked his earbud back into place and took off again.

Dean rolled his eyes. What a dick.  

Once he was sure there was no significant injury from his fall, he refocused on finishing the route. He would turn left at the end of the field and head back to the main road, which, if Sam kept his word about only doing one more mile, would be the end of this run.

Predictably, Sam was already finished. Dean recognized Sam’s questioning look and waved him off before he could ask about the unusual amount of dirt on his clothes or the scowl on his face. His mood had been soured enough.

Freshly showered and sated from a quick breakfast, Dean headed out towards his ten o’clock lecture. The only good thing (besides seeing the yoga class, of course) about getting up early was that it meant he had plenty of time to stop by the campus coffee shop before class.

He whistled a made-up melody as he pushed through Teaspoon’s door and approached the counter, giving his usual order to the barista and paying before going to stand with the few other people still waiting for their drinks. Among them was a familiar head of long dark hair. 

“Hey, Lisa,” he said before he could stop himself. She turned, confused. 

Shit, he probably sounded really creepy; they’d never even been project partners in the few classes they had shared, she had no reason to remember who he was. But now he’d announced that he knew _her_ , so she was probably feeling all kinds of awkward—

Her expression brightened. “Oh, hi! Dean, right?” she asked, squinting a little.

“That’s me,” Dean confirmed, feeling relieved. He returned her smile.

“We had General Chemistry together a year or two back, didn’t we?” 

Dean nodded. “Yeah, with Professor Barnes. Dunno about you, but I barely made it out of her class alive.” 

Lisa laughed, a pretty, warm sound, before fixing him with a curious look. “This might sound really weird,” she began, “but...were you running with someone near the soccer fields this morning?”

“Uh—my brother, actually. Yeah, that was us.”

_Super,_ he thought, realizing that almost certainly meant she’d seen him gawking at her group before colliding face first with the asshole runner with an attitude problem. His bruised tailbone twinged. 

“I _thought_ you looked familiar. It’s been a while! What have you been up to?”

“Nothing too exciting; just trying to graduate, you know?”

Lisa rolled her eyes empathetically. “Ugh, tell me about it. I’ve been over homework and exams since sophomore year.” She gave a small laugh. “So what’s your major? Do you have plans for after graduation?”

The truth was that every time Dean thought about graduating and finding a job, he felt like he was going to hyperventilate. He agreed with Lisa; homework and exams and a consistent lack of sleep were not fun. Still, he'd gladly take all of those things over the terrifying, totally unstructured world outside of college. 

But Lisa didn’t need to know that.

“Caramel macchiato for Lisa!” The barista set down a hot cup on the edge of the bar and whisked away to make someone else’s drink. Lisa picked it up and paused as she passed Dean on her way back.

“Do you want to sit with me for a while?”

Dean glanced at his phone; he still had about ten minutes. “Sure,” he said, shrugging. They moved to a table by the window. Lisa blew gently on her coffee before asking Dean about his major again.

“Oh, I’m doing mechanical engineering,” Dean said. “After graduation, I have no idea; I just know I want to work with cars. You?”

“I’m majoring in physical education. Someday I’d like to own my own yoga studio, but who knows…” She trailed off and took a sip of her coffee. Dean floundered about for something to say to fill the silence.

“Cool. So, uh…any interesting projects this semester?”

Lisa’s eyes brightened as she finished another sip of her drink. “Yeah, actually! I haven’t had time the past few semesters, but I’m finally rejoining the campus theatre group. It’s a little outside of my usual skill set,” she said, smiling ruefully, “But I think it’ll be nice to get out of my own element, you know?”

Dean smiled and nodded. “Yeah, I can understand that. I love cars, but sometimes I need a break.”

“Coffee, two cream, one sugar, for Dean!” They both turned to the bar where another cup had just been set down. Dean hitched his bag higher on his shoulder and stood up.

“That’s my cue to get to class. It...was nice to see you.” He’d wanted to ask if they could maybe get coffee together sometime but he second-guessed himself, the words catching in his throat.

“You too. Hey, Dean?” Lisa put a gentle hand on his sleeve as he turned away. He turned back to her, puzzled.

“If you maybe want to, you know,” Was _she_ going to ask _him_ to coffee? His heart leapt in his chest. “want to get out of your element a bit, the theatre group is having a mass meeting tomorrow evening. You could stop by, see if it interests you.” She smiled at him pleasantly and removed her hand.

Dean’s heart returned to its normal pace. Theatre really wasn’t his thing; he preferred the definitive logic and processes behind engineering and he was absolute garbage at the type of critical analysis skills that were useful for things like acting.

He felt himself smile anyway. “Sure Lisa, I’ll check it out.”

The sharp _whap_ of papers being smacked down across the table from him startled Castiel away from his reading. He tugged off his noise-cancelling headphones as Charlie plunked herself down in the seat opposite him.

“Doing homework already, Copernicus?” Charlie put her feet up on the table, the heel of one boot resting on top of the papers she had just set down.

“Hello, Charlie. I take it you’ve _not_ started any of your work yet?” He gave her a wry smile.

“Ahh, c’mon Cas. You know I can’t get any work done until the situation is dire.”

Castiel snorted; Computer genius though she was, she had a penchant for letting projects idle for far longer than was reasonable, only to pull together a finished product so fast it beggared belief at the very last of last minutes. 

“Anyway, have you found something to do this semester besides work?”

Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose, realizing he’d forgotten _again_ about Charlie’s declaration that they should broaden their horizons to include something other than poring over endless research. “No,” he admitted. “Have you?”

“Not yet,” she sighed dejectedly.

“Does that mean I’m off the hook then?” It was meant to be a joke, but the hopeful tone of his voice sounded genuine even to his own ears. Charlie pouted at him and crossed her arms.

“No way, you promised! Listen, I can’t take another semester of doing nothing but research. I spent so much time in windowless computer labs that I started compiling code in my sleep. Besides,” she pulled her feet off the table and leaned forward to point an accusing finger at him, “no matter what you say, breaks _are_ good for you. It’ll ultimately help with your work to change it up a little bit, I promise.”

“So why can’t we just go to the _gym_ once in a while?” he suggested exasperatedly, not for the first time. But Charlie shook her head.

“It’s not the same,” she declared, “We won’t be accountable to anyone but ourselves, which means we’ll give it up eventually. We need to join a group,” Charlie drummed her fingers on the pile of papers before nudging them towards Castiel. “which is why I brought _these_.”

He pulled the stack the rest of the way across the table. Each sheet was a loud color with text advertising some extracurricular group or another. Among them were two dance groups, one culinary group, three digital media groups, a theatre group, and a _squirrel-watching_ group,  of all things. He raised a quizzical eyebrow at Charlie.

“What?”

“ _Squirrel-watching?”_

“Oh, shut up,” she pouted, tugging that particular flyer back. “I just picked up a flyer for every group I saw advertised.” She jabbed a finger in his direction. “And I’m dragging _you_ to the mass meetings with me, so you can help me browse.”

“Just because I laughed at squirrel-watching?”

“ _Especially_ because you laughed at squirrel-watching.”

Castiel snorted, but eventually closed his book and gave Charlie a small smile. “There’s no point in arguing, is there.”

Charlie smiled, victorious. “None.” She sighed and stood up, gathering the flyers back into a single pile. “The first one is the theatre group, tomorrow at seven. Later!”

Castiel rolled his eyes fondly as she flounced away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact #1: The squirrel-watching club was an actual thing at my university. Yes, really. College is a weird place.
> 
> Game #1: How many references to canon sooperboop can you spot in this story? Several times, both my beta and artist commended me for a cool bit of symbolism or a meaningful nod to something in canon. I find this all very hilarious because I am fairly bad at literary analysis and did only about 20% of these things on purpose. So, please help me find all my easter eggs! I have no idea how many I dropped! Most of what you find will be news to me!


	3. Wednesday, September 5

“Alright, now that everyone has some food in their bellies, let’s get down to business!”

The low chatter in the room died down gradually as students found places to sit. Usually the tables sat in neat rows, but today they had been pushed aside to make room for a wide circle of chairs, presumably so everyone could see one another better. The blonde woman who had called attention was cheery and had a nice smile, and Dean instantly liked her.

He fidgeted for a moment before deciding on a seat. Lisa had come up to greet him as soon as he had walked in, but after a few minutes of small talk she had been called away by other friends, leaving Dean alone. A slice of gooey cheese pizza (the standard offering at most mass meetings) had occupied him for a few minutes, but once he was done he had felt quite awkward standing alone and not talking to anyone. Thankfully, now that the meeting was starting, he wouldn’t be expected to do much else besides pay attention.

Or at least  _look_ like he was paying attention. He still wasn’t so sure he had any real interest in this outside of Lisa.

“Well, first of all, welcome! I’m Donna Hanscum,” The woman’s nose crinkled as she smiled. “and you can feel free to just call me Donna. In case any of you don’t recognize me, I’m a professor in the Performing Arts department; you may have seen my legs around campus, pokin’ out from beneath a mountain of costumes and scenery.” There were chuckles around the room and Dean smiled with them. Donna made him feel a little more at ease.

She launched into a briefing on why she liked working with the theatre group and how important theatre was as an art form. Nice as she was, Dean tuned her out in favor of getting familiar with some of the faces around the room. 

It eased his guilt a little to find that the rest of the audience displayed varying degrees of interest. Some, like Lisa, seemed genuinely pleased to be there and were nodding along with Donna or whispering excitedly to their neighbors. Others, like the guy who was very conspicuously tapping away on his phone, seemed incapable of caring less. All in all, there were probably no more than twenty students in the room; Dean wondered what would happen if there ended up being more characters than group members. 

All of a sudden, his mind supplied an image of Lisa, costumed in a huge poofy ball gown and scrambling backstage to slap on a monocle and fake beard so as to play a second role. He had to fake a small coughing fit to cover the snort of laughter that bubbled out; surely, if it came to that, Donna would have a better solution.

A flash of movement caught his eye; across the circle, a redhead was digging an elbow into her friend’s ribs. She whispered something to the friend, who could not have looked more indifferent about being there if he tried, before turning back to face Donna. Dean’s eyes lingered on the guy’s shirt; it was a little hard to tell with him sitting slumped back in his chair, but Dean was pretty sure the graphic was a Led Zeppelin album cover—

As though he could feel Dean’s gaze, his eyes swept around the room before catching Dean’s stare a split second later. 

_Oh, awkward._

It was the asshole he’d crashed into near the soccer fields yesterday. Clearly, his eyes were just that intense whether he was angry or not, because they were as piercingly blue as they’d been yesterday. 

The guy’s already sharp jaw stiffened, but he didn’t look away. Dean felt heat creep up his neck as he dropped his gaze to his lap. He obviously remembered their collision and was holding a grudge about it. Super.

“Stop looking so pouty, this could be fun!” Charlie whispered quietly from beside him.

Castiel narrowed his eyes at her and folded his arms across his chest. Professor Hanscum had been talking for at least ten minutes already, and while he could appreciate performance art and what it entailed, he was much more suited to be an audience member. Charlie had insisted that they were only here to find out about backstage tech crew opportunities, but she seemed so excited that he couldn’t help but worry that she’d try to coerce him into acting. 

His retort was interrupted by that strange, almost imperceptible feeling that he was being watched. Castiel’s gaze flitted curiously around the circle of students, stopping when he found himself looking into a familiar face.  

His brow furrowed slightly as he tried to place the green eyes and sandy hair, but whatever memories he had of the guy seemed fleeting—

Oh. It was the runner he’d crashed into the previous morning; no wonder Castiel barely recognized him. Most mornings he was still half-asleep even as he set out for a jog, a zombie only just cognizant enough to set his limbs into a rhythmic pace. He’d been quite displeased to be shaken out of his white-noise-filled autopilot so abruptly.

He held the other guy’s stare, his jaw tightening reflexively in response to the remembered irritation. After a moment, Green Eyes dropped his gaze to his lap. Castiel felt a petty tickle of pride.  

Next to him, Charlie let out a small squeal at whatever Donna had last said. He leaned over to whisper at her teasingly. 

“Should I worry that you’ll drag us to auditions?”

“Shut _up_ ,” Charlie hissed, “This is basically LARPing, when you think about it. Let me have this.” 

Castiel smiled fondly.

“Okay!” Donna clapped her hands together and seemed to be switching topics.

“I’ve been chattering away long enough, don’t ya think? Let’s move around and get to know each other a little bit.” Donna glanced around the room, counting under her breath as she went. “There are about twenty of you, so get into groups of four or five and give everyone your name, your major, and something interesting about yourself.”

There was rustling around the room as people stood and stretched. Dean looked around awkwardly and had just started gravitating to the nearest incomplete group when he heard his name. It was Lisa, waving him over from across the room to be her group’s fourth person. When he got close enough, she wrapped an arm around his briefly to tug him into the circle. Besides Lisa and himself, there was a gangly dude with big eyes and a haughty-looking guy who, in his suit, looked less like a college student and more like a shifty salesman.  

“Hi everyone,” Lisa said brightly, opting to start things off, “I’m Lisa. I’m majoring in physical education. Hmm, something interesting. I’ve been doing yoga for about…” she trailed off, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “six years now, I think. I’d love to open my own yoga studio someday.” She smiled, gesturing for the gangly dude to go next. 

“Howdy y’all! The name’s Garth,” he said, giving a small wave, “I’m studying to be a veterinarian and my interesting fact is that I’m actually here to help out with scenery! Acting isn’t really my thing, but I love a good art project.” He crossed his arms casually and nodded at the guy in the suit. 

“Hello,” he said, smiling in a way that didn’t reach his eyes, “My name is Bartholomew. I’m studying theology and I manage Saving Souls Through Saving Grace. You may have seen our posters; we provide campus ministry services to our members and offer learning materials for those ready to seek salvation through Christ. Please feel welcome to join one of our Sunday worships.”

Oh, Dean had heard of Bartholomew’s group, alright. No wonder he had the air of a shifty salesman; the group was well known around campus for being overly pushy in their attempts to convert other students and loud in their proclamations that every person was a sinner and could only be redeemed by accepting the Christian God’s love into their heart.

Bartholomew turned to Dean, his smile still frozen in place, and nodded for him to go next.

“Hey guys,” he said, flashing his most charming smile. First impressions and all that. “I’m Dean, majoring in mechanical engineering, and I’m the proud owner of a 1967 Chevy Impala.” Garth whistled quietly and Dean nodded, proud. “She’s my baby; my dad taught me how to work on her when I was still in high school, and I’ve kept her running like a dream ever since.”  

Now that everyone had introduced themselves, no one seemed sure how to continue. Luckily, other groups seemed to be nearly done too and a moment later they were saved from awkward silence by Donna calling attention again.

“Alright! I hope you all met some interesting people! There’ll be plenty more time to get to know your new friends once we know who’s doing what, so without further ado, let’s take a look at the play we’ll be performing this semester.” Once everyone had returned to their seats, she produced a box of worn books from behind the desk. She handed a stack to the closest student, indicating that they should be passed around. 

“This is a good one; _No Exit_ is an existentialist play written by Jean-Paul Sartre. To make a long story short, the three main characters have just died and arrived in the afterlife, which, unfortunately for them, is Hell. They spend the play stuck in the same room figuring out why they’ve been sent to Hell and, perhaps more importantly, why they are all three in Hell together.” 

Donna went to the board and wrote a phrase in large loopy letters.

“L’enfer c’est les autres,” she read, “Hell is other people. I find this famous quote by Sartre particularly relevant to the characters of _No Exit_  because they begin the play feigning innocence about the actions that have led them to eternal punishment, but as the play goes on, their personalities clash in ways that eventually reveal everyone’s true nature.” 

Donna paused to scan the room for anyone still missing a book. “Okie dokie,” she continued, “I know the end of the semester feels very far away now, but trust me, it’ll sneak up on ya. Our first official meeting will be on September 18th. Those of you who are interested in staying with the theatre group for the semester: please try to have the play read by then. I look forward to seeing you all on stage!” 

The group bustled about gathering coats and bags. Dean tucked his copy into his backpack and made a beeline for the door. He’d done his due diligence; now he was ready to return to his equations and diagrams. He was almost home free when he heard Lisa calling after him.

“What do think? Sounds fun, right?” she asked, sounding hopeful.

To be completely honest, he wasn’t particularly enthused; the idea of being on stage under a spotlight with a roomful of people directing all their attention at him didn’t appeal, nor did the idea of learning a bunch of lines and figuring out how to act on top of his already busy schedule. It seemed like a lot of extra effort for not much payoff.

But there Lisa stood, all smiles and friendly brown eyes, waiting hopefully for his response. God, she was beautiful, and clearly passionate about this; if he went through with it, he’d have a valid reason to see her during the semester. Maybe they could hang out, discuss the play, maybe eventually do other things…

“It sounds interesting,” Dean heard himself say, “I’ll start reading the play and think about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have just noticed in my final round of edits that the official beginning of the theatre group is on September 18th. What up accidental easter egg!
> 
> No Exit is a great play; I went back and reread it during research for this fic and it was just as interesting the second time around. You don't need to read it for this story to make sense (assuming I've done my job, anyway), but I encourage you to pick it up if it sounds interesting. =]
> 
> Any interpretations of the play are based on my understandings of it, and I admit critical analysis is not really my forte. Apologies in advance to anyone who is better acquainted with it if I've gotten something horribly off-base.


	4. Friday, September 7

“So I told him, of course, that smoking could lead to all kinds of health problems and was likely the cause of most of his complaints. He says—and I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried—with a completely straight face he says ‘ _But if I stop smoking, I’ll get cancer!_ ’” 

Sam almost snorted beer up his nose as he tried to laugh and drink at the same time. Dean thumped him on the back, chortling into his own glass before downing the remaining ale. On Sam’s other side, Jess laughed in exasperation at her own story.

“I mean, _seriously_. This guy is two steps away from emphysema but won’t even _cut back_ on the cigarettes because he thinks he’ll get cancer if he does.” Jess threw up her hands. “Anyway,” she said, swirling her half-full margarita glass, “average day for an aspiring healthcare provider.” She shrugged and rolled her eyes. Sam rubbed her shoulder sympathetically.

“Can I get anyone a refill?” The cheerful, warm drawl came from the bartender, Benny.

“I’m due for another,” Dean said, tapping his empty glass. Benny smiled and scooped the glass off the bar.

“Comin’ right up,” he said, pulling the lever for Dean’s chosen brew. “Any of you three stopping by the welcome party? Should be in full swing by now.” 

Kansas State University welcomed its new and returning students with an end-of-summer bash featuring silly games and contests, free food, and random “KSU” emblazoned tchotchkes. They had walked past the field where it was being held on their way to the bar; Dean had suppressed a shudder at the unruly crowd of students clamoring for the remaining free t-shirts.

“Nah,” Sam said, “the novelty’s pretty worn off, now that I’m a senior. Too many confused freshmen wandering around.” Jess nodded her agreement.

“How about you, brother?” Benny asked, indicating Dean.

Once had been more than enough for him, especially given how late he'd started college. He hadn't planned on going at all, knowing all too well that their dad's inability to spend money on anything besides liquor meant there would never be enough for two college educations. He'd been perfectly willing to skip straight to earning cash if it meant Sam could have the chance to become the hotshot lawyer he wanted to be. But then one night, in the middle of Sam's senior year of high school and Dean's third year of scraping together paychecks from the local body shop, Sam had come home with a scholarship decision letter clenched in his fist and a huge smile on his face. It had taken some significant persuading to get Dean to put his savings towards his own education instead, but at long last, he'd agreed to apply. Four years later, with the help of several additional scholarships and his very generous uncle Bobby, Dean was steps away from a degree of his own.

Being in the same academic year as his little brother had its ups and downs, but overall Dean had no regrets.

“Ah, I’m too old for those kids nowadays, Benny,” Dean joked, reaching for the newly filled glass Benny placed in front of him. 

“That’s right,” Benny teased, “probably almost your bedtime, huh old timer?”

“Whoops, your tip just decreased by five percent.”

Benny laughed outright at Dean’s deadpan before turning away to help newcomers. Dean sipped at his drink, pleasantly buzzed, listening to Jess regale them with another med school adventure.

“What _are_ your plans for tonight, anyway?” Sam asked him a while later. Dean shrugged.

“Nothing, really. Quiet night in.” Dean finished off his second beer. “Actually, I have an assignment I should get started on.” Sam did a double take.

“An assignment? Since when do you start homework early?” Jess admonished him with a soft punch to the arm.

“Shut up, bitch,” Dean groused, “it’s not exactly mandatory; I’m not even sure if I’m going to stick with it or not.” Both Sam and Jess looked puzzled. “I sort of…got involved with the campus theatre group. We’re supposed to read this play and decide if we want to be in it this semester,” he elaborated finally.

“Theatre?” Sam parroted, his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. Dean flushed.

“I know, it’s not really my thing, but a friend asked me to, so—“

“I think it’s great!” Jess announced, smiling, “Engineering is so left-brain focused; it’ll probably do you good to use the other half for a change.”

“That’s sort of what Lisa said,” Dean said absently, running a finger across the lip of his empty glass.

“Who?”

“Who—oh,” Dean started, “Lisa, she’s…just someone I've had a few classes with. I ran into her at Teaspoon and we caught up a little. She mentioned she was doing theatre this semester.” Sam and Jess shared a knowing look.

“I see,” Sam said, grinning like the Cheshire cat. “This Lisa must be really pretty if you're willing to get on a stage.”

“Shut up,” Dean grumbled, the tips of his ears turning red. “Anyway, I should get home and start reading. We have until the Tuesday after next to decide.”

Sam signaled for Benny to bring them the check. 

“Sam and I will head out too,” said Jess, reaching down to collect her bag, “there are a couple parties going on near the medical campus; gotta get our fun in before the semester gets into gear.” She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. Dean was decidedly not jealous; with Jess entering her second year of med school and Sam finishing up pre-law, it was a wonder they were even able to maintain a relationship.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Dean said, reaching up to ruffle Sam’s hair. He laughed when Sam scowled and shooed him away.

Dean sighed as he sat down on one end of the couch, his feet propped up and another beer sitting on the table to his right. He had no idea what to expect of _No Exit_ , although the concept sounded interesting. He opened to the first page and began to read.

Sam came home two and a half hours later to find him with his nose buried in the book, reading eagerly. It took Sam snapping his fingers three times for him to blurt out a noise that vaguely resembled a confused “huh?” and tear his eyes away from the page.

“Honestly, I expected to find you asleep on the couch,” Sam joked, “I’ve only seen you that invested in Busty Asian Beauties.” He crossed his arms, smirking. 

“Hey, I read,” Dean shot back, “Some material is just, you know….more captivating than others.” He accompanied this with a lascivious wink that made Sam roll his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t forget,” Sam called over his shoulder, already making his way to bed and sounding suspiciously chipper, “jogging in the morning!”

“Tomorrow is _Saturday_!”

Sam only laughed at Dean’s obvious dismay. Dean groaned and rolled over onto his stomach on the couch, picking up his phone to check for messages. There were none, but Dean pulled up his contacts and hovered over the newest entry.

On his way out of the mass meeting, Lisa had slipped a crumpled piece of paper into his hand. “If you want to meet up to discuss the play,” she’d said. He’d smoothed it out later to find a phone number, which he’d gleefully added to his contact list but had yet to actually use.

Was it too late at night? It was barely midnight, but some people went to bed early even on Friday. He spent five minutes typing out messages and then deleting them, eventually hitting send before he could change his mind.

_Saturday, 12:02 AM_  
**_Dean:_**   _Hey Lisa, this is Dean. Have you started reading yet?_

He set his phone down and stood, stretching the kinks out of his neck and back, sighing when he felt several satisfying pops. Empty beer bottle in hand, he made his way to the recycling bin, feigning nonchalance even as he strained to hear his phone chime. Fingers tapped without rhythm against his thigh for a moment before he spun on his heel and crossed the apartment to his bedroom, where he changed into sweatpants and a worn t-shirt.

Upon returning to the couch, he flipped his phone over. Two new messages.

_Saturday, 12:07 AM_  
**_Lisa:_**   _Hi! :)_  
**_Lisa:_**   _I’ve actually already read it. It’s one of my favorites!_

Dean turned so he was leaning against the armrest and brought his feet up as he tapped out a reply.

**_Dean:_ **   _Yeah? When did you read it?_

**_Lisa:_**   _I took Advanced French in high school. We did a whole unit on existentialism_  
**_Lisa:_**   _It’s a good thing too, the semester has barely started and already I have so much to do! D=_

 ** _Dean:_ **   _Ooooh, I’m gonna tell Donna you aren’t doing the reading :P_

**_Lisa:_ **   _Don’t you dare, I’ll never get the part I want LOL!_

**_Dean:_ **   _Fine_ _, I’ll keep your secret_

**_Lisa:_**   _Good =D_  
**_Lisa:_**   _Have you started reading yet?_  

 ** _Dean:_**   _Just started tonight_  
**_Dean:_**   _I think I’m around halfway through_

 ** _Lisa:_ **   _Nice!_

**_Dean:_ **   _I like it so far :)_  

 ** _Lisa:_**   _It’s a great piece, I’m so excited to put it on stage_  
**_Lisa:_**   _I’m falling asleep already, signs of adulthood, haha!_  

 ** _Dean:_ **   _Sorry, I messaged pretty late_

**_Lisa:_ **   _It’s fine =P I’m glad you texted. Would you want to grab coffee sometime this weekend? We could figure out what characters to try out for?_   

Dean yawned as the clock on his phone ticked closer to one in the morning. Once his eyes refocused and he was able to read the second half of Lisa’s message however, he suddenly felt wide awake. Was this a date? Probably not; they’d only started speaking to each other a few days ago. Still, he wasn’t about to pass up on the opportunity to get to know her better.

**_Dean:_ **   _I’d like that :) I’m free tomorrow?_  

 ** _Lisa:_ **   _Sunday is better for me actually, if that’s ok_  

 ** _Dean:_ **   _Sure_

**_Lisa:_ **   _Awesome, meet at Teaspoon around noon?_

**_Dean:_ **   _Sounds good :)_

**_Lisa:_ **   _=]_ _Night!_

Dean yawned wide again before getting up and flicking out the light. He felt his way along the wall towards his room and fell forward onto his mattress, humming contentedly at the memory foam. Reluctantly, he pulled his phone to eye level and set an alarm for the morning jog. Stupid Sam.

More importantly, he had a sort-of-maybe date with Lisa on Sunday. He smiled into his pillow and was asleep within minutes.

**Sunday, September 9**

Twelve o’clock sharp found Dean standing by the display case of baked goods at Teaspoon, trying to decide between a bacon-and-egg quiche thing or a pastry of some kind. A few minutes later a small hand was tapping his shoulder gently; he turned to find Lisa smiling up at him and unwrapping her light scarf. It was still early in the season, but the air threatened a looming chilliness. He smiled back at her.

“Hey!” she greeted, “Sorry I’m a little late; had to finish up an errand.” Dean waved the apology off.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m pretty hungry, so I’m gonna grab a bite to go with my coffee. Do you want anything? I’ll buy.”

“Really? That’d be great, thanks!” Lisa smiled appreciatively. “I’ll get a caramel macchiato, and… a cranberry scone sounds great right now.”

“You got it.” Dean nodded and turned to relay his order to the girl behind the counter. Lisa motioned that she was going to claim a table. 

“So,” she began when Dean arrived with their food and drinks, plucking her plate off the tray, “You said you’re about halfway through? Thank you, by the way.” She indicated her scone.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean said, his fork already on his way to his mouth with a bite full of egg and bacon. The eggs were cooked _perfectly_. He swallowed gratefully before continuing, “Yeah, I just got to the part where Inez says she’ll be Estelle’s mirror.”

 Lisa nodded. “And what do you think so far?”

“I’m not sure what to make of it,” Dean replied honestly, “It’s definitely interesting reading about a version of Hell that isn’t all fire and brimstone, you know?”

“Yeah, isn’t it?” Lisa nodded eagerly, “I guess I had this idea in my head that Hell was always this violent place where you’d be tortured for eternity,” she shrugged, “Christian upbringing, I suppose. It never really occurred to me that other situations could be just as hellish.”

“Tell me about it,” Dean agreed, “I can definitely think of people I wouldn’t want to be locked up with for eternity. Although,” his brow furrowed in confusion, “I don’t really get why Garcin, Inez, and Estelle got stuck together. I mean clearly they don’t get along, but…” he trailed off, gesturing vaguely with one hand.

“They figure it out closer to the end,” Lisa said, “Do you want spoilers, or should I let you find out for yourself?” She smiled slyly. Dean laughed.

“Nah, go for it.”

She leaned forward conspiratorially. “So, it’s sort of a vicious circle between the three of them,” she explained, “Estelle thrives on attention from the men in her life—or death, in this case—so she puts her efforts into winning Garcin over. But Garcin isn’t interested because Estelle is so shallow and vain. Garcin wants Inez to fall in love with him because she’s a misandrist; he thinks he can prove her wrong and convince her that men aren’t so bad. But Inez is interested in women and thinks Garcin is a coward, so she wants nothing to do with him. And finally, Inez wants Estelle to forget Garcin and fall in love with her instead, but because Estelle only cares about getting attention from men, she finds Inez increasingly frustrating.”

“Wow,” Dean said, finally, “So, each person’s torture is to be rejected by the person they think they should pursue while dealing with obnoxious advances from the other person, whom they have no interest in, for eternity.” He sat back, whistling lowly.

“Exactly,” Lisa nodded, “Not to mention they’re stuck in a room that’s too hot and too small, with lights that are always on and too bright, a button to call the Valet that never works, and furniture that’s ugly and uncomfortable.”

“All those things added up would drive me crazy within a day, never mind an eternity,” Dean said, feeling tired at the thought.

Lisa hummed in agreement. They settled back into their respective chairs, nursing their drinks, contemplating.

“So, who do you think you’ll try out for?”

Dean looked up from his coffee cup, surprised; somehow, he’d forgotten this was a play they were meant to act out on stage.

“Oh— I…haven’t thought about it much. You?”

“I’m having a tough time deciding between Estelle and Inez,” Lisa sighed. “Inez is definitely a bit more of a badass, but I like Estelle’s lines more; she’s more dramatic.” 

“Maybe you should try out for both?” Dean suggested. “Either way, I’m sure you’ll be great.” He threw in a wink for good measure and Lisa giggled.

“Thanks, Dean.” She considered him for a moment before adding, “You know, you might make a good Garcin.”

Dean nearly choked on his sip of coffee. “Um—“ he stopped to clear his throat, “Well, the thing is…” Lisa looked puzzled as he trailed off. “As interesting as this play is,” he tried again, “I really don’t think I belong on stage. Hell, my brother only did one musical in middle school and that’s more experience than I have.” He felt guilty; he’d gone to the mass meeting largely to see Lisa again, and of course it had gotten him this coffee date, but he had never planned to take the theatre group particularly seriously. “Maybe I could….do stage crew?” he amended lamely.

Lisa didn’t look particularly deterred; there was a small, secretive-looking smile on her face. “Well,” she said, shrugging, “that’s your choice, obviously. Still,” she reached across the table to put her hand on top of Dean’s, “I think you should try out. If you’re so sure you wouldn’t be picked, then it’s not really a commitment, right? No harm done.”

She was right, Dean supposed. Auditions were only done in front of Donna and two or three other people; if he embarrassed himself, it would be short-lived. 

“That’s…true,” he admitted haltingly.

“So you’ll try out then?” Lisa was looking at him so eagerly, seemed so excited for him to be a part of this. The silence dragged on as they stared at each other.

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” Dean conceded, draining his mug, “I’ll try out.” 

Lisa all but squealed; Dean smiled at her delight. They set about clearing up their table and when they got outside, Lisa waved goodbye, still smiling. Dean waved and turned to head in the other direction.

_I must be crazy to even be considering doing this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact #2: Jess' patient story is stolen directly from my best friend, who is currently in medical school and must have a truly inhuman level of patience. This is one of the milder ridiculous situations she's found herself in. Seriously.
> 
> You have no idea how much time I spent fighting the archive about getting those text messages indented properly, please applaud.


	5. Tuesday, September 18

Predictably, the first week and a half of the semester had been misleadingly peaceful. Syllabi had been covered, books had been purchased, and the introductory lessons that barely merited paying attention to (seriously, _how many times_ were they going to discuss how to label vector diagrams?) had given way to fast-paced lectures and professors with unreasonably high expectations about what kind of workload the average student could manage in a night. One assignment became two plus an article, then three plus two articles plus four chapters worth of reading. Dean was already feeling a bit overwhelmed and was desperately glad he’d started reading _No Exit_ early; he doubted he could have finished it in time if he had waited until after the weekend.

He placed the cup of hot cider he’d stopped for on top of the textbook in his arm, watching as it teetered precariously while he tugged open the meeting room door with his free hand. Once inside with his things safely on the table, he sank back with a sigh against his swivel chair. Around him, other students bustled about setting down bags and chatting with friends. He overheard more than one complaint about the already staggering workload.

 “Hi!” someone half-whispered to his left. It was Lisa, taking the chair next to him. 

“How’s it going?” he replied with a smile.

“Oh you know,” Lisa said, “Another semester, another handful of professors who seem to think we’re taking their class and nothing else.” Lisa rolled her eyes and Dean snorted derisively.

“Tell me about it. Sleep is for the weak, I guess?”

Lisa laughed. They both turned their attention to the front of the room where Donna was writing out a schedule on the whiteboard. Once she was finished, she turned to address the group.

“Welcome back everyone!” she exclaimed cheerfully, clapping her hands together. “We lost a few faces, but I’m glad to see the rest of you back! Has everyone finished reading?”

There was a chorus of “yeahs” from around the room.

“Great! Let’s get right down to business. Now, I know you all have busy schedules but I want to give everyone ample time to work on their respective roles, so we’ll be meeting here on Tuesday and Thursday evenings.” Donna held up her hand placatingly as people donned anxious expressions and murmured about time commitments. “I know that may seem like a lot,” she went on, “but meeting a few times a week gives us a dedicated time to focus our efforts on this production. With any luck, there won’t be much you need to do outside of these meetings.”

“This is a rough schedule of what we’ll be doing over the course of this semester.” Donna indicated the whiteboard. “We’ll rehearse lines and do acting exercises in here for about a month. In mid-October, we’ll transition to the theatre itself and start mapping things out on stage. Costumes and scenery will be finished by November, and we’ll use the first two weeks of December to put everything together. Before you know it, you’ll be giving your final bows and the semester will be over! Anyone have questions?”

“When will we be chosen for roles?” asked a voice from the back corner. The speaker was Bartholomew, if Dean was remembering correctly from the mass meeting. 

“Ah, yes,” Donna said, nodding, “Auditions will be held here next week in place of Tuesday’s meeting; you’ll come in one at a time and read some lines in front of me and a few other professors. Everyone will have their roles by Thursday of next week. Oh,” she added, “Those of you who are participating as stage crew or costume and scenery designers should feel free to skip Tuesday’s meeting.” She surveyed the room, looking cheerful. “I can’t wait to see everyone audition. But that’s enough from me! We have about half an hour left; use that time to mingle and get to know each other. Sayin’ your lines is easier if you’re sayin’ them to friends.” 

Castiel watched as people turned in their chairs to talk to whoever was closest. Next to him, Charlie was squinting at the other side of the room.

“I think I know that guy.” 

“Hmm?”

“The guy in the second row, next to the pretty brunette,” she clarified, “He sometimes stops by at the end of my tutoring sessions to meet one of my students. I’m gonna go make friends.” Her words were decisive, but she got up slowly, looking a little unsure. She turned back to face him. “Can you come with me?”

Castiel smiled knowingly. “I’m sure you’ll charm the pants off the brunette all by yourself.” Charlie flushed.

“Shut up; pretty girls make me nervous sometimes.”

Castiel made a show of rolling his eyes but stood up nonetheless, gesturing dramatically for Charlie to lead the way. As they approached, the girl directed a welcoming smile at them over the guy’s shoulder, and, after realizing her attention was now elsewhere, the guy turned to face them too.

Once again, he found himself looking at the runner he’d crashed into a few weeks back. He’d been at the mass meeting, but they’d been facing each other then; Castiel hadn’t recognized the back of his head. A small scowl threatened to furrow his brow; he tried to school his features into something more neutral but must not have managed it in time. The runner looked perplexed for a moment before a vaguely annoyed expression flitted across his face. He’d recognized Castiel too. 

“Hi!” Charlie said cheerily, oblivious to the falter in mood, “I’m Charlie, this is Cas.” she gestured to him and he nodded to the pair, aiming for a polite expression. “I think I’ve seen you before,” she said to the runner, “You stop by my tutoring session on Fridays, right?”

“Huh? Oh!” The runner’s eyebrows had lifted in surprise before realization seemed to dawn on him. “Is that the session for Intro to Programming? My brother Sam is in that one; tall kid, kinda nerdy, always in need of a haircut? I’m Dean, by the way.”

“That’s the one,” Charlie confirmed, laughing at his description of Sam.

“How’s he doing? In the class, I mean. You’re a TA right?” 

“Yeah, I—“ Charlie suddenly looked a bit embarrassed, “He’s, um. I mean, it’s still early in the semester, but he’s doing…fine.”

Dean laughed. “That bad, huh?” 

 “Not everyone picks it up right away,” Charlie amended, smiling guiltily, “and it doesn’t help that the professor is about as boring as you can get without being dead, so it’s not really his fault, but so far…yeah, he’s fairly awful.” Dean laughed even harder, the corners of his eyes crinkling with mirth. He reached up to pat Charlie jovially on the arm.

“Give him time, the kid’s smart. He’ll get the hang of it.” 

Charlie chuckled before turning her attention to the brunette. “Now _you,_ ” she said, “I would have remembered seeing before.” 

Castiel glanced sideways at Charlie, smiling slightly when he recognized the flirtatiousness in her voice and grin. Nervous though she may have been, she never could resist laying at least a little charm on a pretty woman. The brunette giggled, turning a gentle shade of pink and offering her name. 

“I’m Lisa; it’s good to meet you Charlie, Cas.” 

“Likewise,” Castiel agreed.

Charlie continued to make friendly small talk, but Castiel was no longer fully listening. Instead he studied Dean, who was looking between the two girls and occasionally injecting himself into the conversation. This close (and now that he wasn’t recovering from being knocked down), Dean’s features were quite striking. His face was almost unfairly symmetrical; with his bright, friendly eyes, the smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks, and a mouth that looked perfect for blinding smiles, he was sort of…beautiful. 

“Cas and I have already met, sort of,” Dean announced, a playful smirk on his lips. Castiel started, shaking himself out of his thoughts. Thankfully, it didn’t seem like anyone had noticed his staring. Charlie often chided him about scaring people away with the intensity of his gaze, but unfortunately, it was a habit he had little control over. 

“You have?” Charlie asked, giving Castiel a quizzical look.

“We…ran into each other at the park a few weeks ago, as it were.” Well, it wasn’t an outright lie, in any case. Dean avoided looking at him. 

“Ohh,” Lisa exclaimed after a moment, “Dean, a few weeks ago at the coffee shop, you mentioned running with your brother, remember? I _thought_ I saw—did you guys _literally_ run into each other?” There was laughter behind the incredulity in her voice, and Charlie had her hand over her mouth to try to muffle her own giggles.

Castiel ducked his head, chuckling quietly; As Lisa spoke, Dean had turned an ever more impressive shade of pink.  

“Yeah, that was, uh. Yeah. That was us. Sorry man,” he said, looking up at Castiel apologetically, “Let’s start over?”

Castiel took pity on him. “Water under the bridge,” he said with a small smile. Dean grinned, proving Castiel right: his mouth _was_ perfect for blinding smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Game #2: Continue as normal, but drink every time an eye-roll is mentioned. Text me when you die of alcohol poisoning.


	6. Friday, September 21

For what must have been the thousandth time in under ten minutes, Castiel felt one of his eyelids begin to twitch rapidly. He sighed, pushing his notes away and scrubbing at the eye with the heel of his hand. They’d been here for hours and he had very little to show for it. Despite his efforts, the equations he was supposed to be reviewing seemed more inclined to blur together and spill into each other than make any kind of sense. The rational thing to do would have been to step away and take a break; occupy his mind with something else, get some food, take a nap, and come back to his notes for a fresh start later. But he’d discarded that idea two hours ago because he’d been _so sure_ that if he just reviewed everything one more time it would all click into place. 

It hadn’t, of course, and he cursed his past self for his itchy eyes and cramped shoulders.

Charlie seemed to be reaching her limit too. She was chewing on the end of her pen and glaring down more angrily than was really necessary at the work before her. Castiel watched as she circled something on the page and scribbled a note to go with it before slamming her pen down and dropping her forehead to the table with a dull thud.

“What’s wrong?”

Charlie gave a muffled groan.

“Badly written code?”

She nodded pitifully against the table. Castiel tipped his head back and to the side to get some of the kinks out of his neck. 

“I just,” Charlie said, picking her head up to look at him, “I’m trying to be lenient here; some of these people have never done programming before this. But I mean, seriously?!” She picked up the paper she’d just marked and brandished it crankily. “This is unreadable. Two Fridays ago, I spent an entire hour talking _specifically_ about the importance of giving variables meaningful names and yet—“ A dismissive flicking motion of her wrist sent the poor paper skidding along the table top.

Castiel hummed sympathetically, unsure how else to offer comfort.

“Sorry,” Charlie huffed, “I know it isn’t their fault,I’m just tired and cranky.”

“Maybe we should head home; I suspect my being productive tonight is just not written in the stars.”

The joke was rewarded with an exasperated smile.

“Yeah, let’s,” Charlie agreed, “but I want to stop by the liquor store on the way home. I’m out of everything and I need a drink—oh, hey Dean!“ 

Castiel turned in the direction Charlie was waving to see Dean looking up from his phone and returning her wave. He closed the distance to their table, tucking his phone into a pocket before plopping into the seat beside Castiel.

“Hey Charlie, Cas,” he greeted, “Partying hard on a Friday night, I see.” He nodded at the combined notes and homework assignments scattered across the table.

“Yeah, it’s been a hoot,” Charlie deadpanned with a grimace. “We’re almost ready to head out though.”

“Lucky,” Dean said, mirroring Charlie’s expression, “My group mates couldn’t meet any earlier than this, so I’m just arriving.”

“Bummer.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Well, godspeed and all that.” Charlie yawned and stretched her arms high overhead. “Alright,” she declared, “I’m going to run to the bathroom and then let’s get the hell out of here.” She addressed the last part to Castiel before pushing back from the table and disappearing around a bookshelf.

Dean gave a small wave as she left. Castiel cleared his throat and searched for his notes amidst the jumbled pile on the table. He knew he should say something to fill the silence, but no words came. Despite the abbreviated version of his name Dean had adopted, they were barely more than strangers, which was a social gray area that Castiel hated for how it lacked any kind of proper script to follow. He’d certainly seem rude if he didn’t acknowledge Dean somehow, but he had no idea how to do that without it sounding incredibly forced. Oh, how he envied Charlie’s ability to glide in and out of conversations with ease.

“So, uh,” Dean’s voice was a welcome respite from both the awkward silence and his own overanalyzing. “What are you working on?”

“Just some research,” he answered, tugging a stray diagram from under Charlie’s pile of ungraded homework assignments, “Although I didn’t get much done this evening. I don’t think Charlie did either.”

Dean nodded. There was silence again, and then: “Have either of you decided what role to try out for?” 

Confused, he looked up from where he’d been tucking his work into his bag.

“For the theatre group,” Dean clarified.

“Oh! No, I don’t intend to try out at all. Charlie and I will be handling sound and lights, respectively.” He jostled his bag until the stack of papers slid into place.

“Oh, cool,” Dean said. 

“Have you?”

“Uh—“ Dean’s arms crossed protectively—defensively?—over his chest. “Lisa says I should try out for Garcin.”

Before he could reply, Charlie reappeared and pulled her bag onto the table.

“Alright; liquor store, here I come!”

“Have an extra drink for me,” Dean said mournfully, “I should try to find my group.” 

Charlie gave him a salute. Dean returned it before standing and heading deeper into the library.

“I like him,” Charlie declared as they exited into the cool night air. Castiel gave a small hum of agreement.

 

**Saturday, September 22**

_Saturday, 10:16 AM_  
**_Lisa:_**   _Hi! =D_  
**_Lisa:_**   _If you have some time today, want to meet up and figure out what to read for auditions?_

 _Saturday, 11:32 AM_  
**_Lisa:_**   _I hope you’re sleeping and not avoiding me. I didn’t forget that you agreed to try out for Garcin =P_

Dean scowled into his pillow at the fifty billionth chime from his phone dutifully reminding him he had unseen notifications. With a sigh, he accepted his newly conscious reality and scrabbled around in his blankets for the annoying beeping device. It chimed again spitefully as he pulled it from under his pillow. He really ought to change the notification settings.

The previous night had been spent poring over textbooks and arguing about stupid minutiae with his group until nearly five in the morning. Dean could only thank his lucky stars that Sam had taken pity on him four hours later when he’d come in to bother him about running. With one hand rubbing the sleep from his eyes he peered blearily at the too-bright screen, praying it wasn’t a group member texting to say they’d forgotten something. When he saw that it was only Lisa, his mood improved a little.

_Saturday, 11:47 AM_  
**_Dean:_**   _hi :) I’m not avoiding you, promise. I just woke up_  
**_Dean:_**   _Meet at the library in 45 mins? I expect you to help me choose a scene since you’re peer pressuring me into this :P_

Less than an hour later, coffee in hand, he was pushing through the library doors and belatedly realizing that it hadn’t even been eight full hours since he was last here. He fought to shake off the residual exhaustion. Lisa waved him over from a corner table near the windows.

“Morning, sleepyhead!”

“As soon as final exams are over, I’m going to sleep for three days.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Lisa laughed, raising her own coffee cup and taking a long sip. “Alright, let’s get started; there’s a Netflix marathon and comfy pajamas waiting for me at home.”

Dean pulled out his copy of the play and started flipping through it, unsure what he was meant to be looking for. Did the chosen passage need to be a certain length? Was he supposed to pick a scene with other characters in it?  

“Does any particular scene stand out to you?” Lisa asked fifteen minutes later, not looking up from where she was flipping back and forth between a few marked places in her own copy.

“I…don’t really know what I’m looking for,” Dean confessed. Lisa looked up from her own book and gave him a small smile. 

“Sorry,” she said, “I forgot you haven’t done this before.” She held up her book to indicate one of the scenes she had marked with a bright purple sticky note. “My preference is to use a passage that I feel demonstrates an interesting aspect of that character. This part here, for example, is where Estelle arrives and denies that she deserves to be in Hell; even though we find out later that she’s a terrible person, I feel like the way she tries to rationalize her way out of the consequences is pretty relatable. Does that make sense?” 

“I think so,” Dean said, frowning slightly at his copy, “I’m not really good at that sort of thing though—analyzing between the lines, I mean.”

“Well, try starting a bit simpler then,” Lisa said, shrugging, “Pick a scene—featuring mainly Garcin, of course—that you like for any reason, no matter what the reason is. We can read through our scenes once or twice to get a feel for it.” 

“Sure, I can do that.”

“Okay! I think I’ve decided on my scenes,” Lisa announced after another half hour. “I really can’t decide between Estelle and Inez, so I’ll just audition for both. Did you find something?” 

“Yeah, but you’ll have to let me know if it’s a good choice.”

“Not a problem,” Lisa assured him, “Let’s read them out loud to hear how they sound?”

Dean nodded. “You go first.” 

“Okay, the passage starts here,” she turned her book again to indicate the page number, which Dean flipped to in his own book. “Can you read Inez for me?”

Dean nodded again. Lisa cleared her throat and began to read.

**ESTELLE:**  That’s just it. I haven’t a notion, not the foggiest. In fact, I’m wondering if there hasn’t been some ghastly mistake. Don’t smile. Just think of the number of people who—who become absentees every day. There must be thousands and thousands, and probably they’re sorted out by—by understrappers, you know what I mean. Stupid employees who don’t know their job. So they’re bound to make mistakes sometimes.…Do stop smiling. Why don’t you speak? If they made a mistake in my case, they may have done the same about you. And you, too. Anyhow, isn’t it better to think we’ve got here by mistake? 

**INEZ:**  Is that all you have to tell us?

 **ESTELLE:**   What else should I tell? I’ve nothing to hide.

“I’ll stop there,” Lisa said, dropping the lilting voice she’d adopted for Estelle, “She goes on with a whole speech but I think this is already plenty. How was it?”

“Well, keeping in mind that I’m new to this,” Dean qualified, “it sounded great to me. I liked the voice you gave Estelle.”

“Thanks!” Lisa beamed at him. “Alright, let’s hear yours; do you need me to read as anyone?”

“Oh, uh, yes,” Dean thumbed back to the beginning of the book and turned it to show Lisa the page.

“I’ll read you in.”

**VALET:**  What do you mean by that?

 **GARCIN:**  What do I mean? I thought as much. That’s why there’s something so beastly, so damn bad-mannered, in the way you stare at me. They’re paralyzed.

 **VALET:**  What are you talking about?

 **GARCIN:**  Your eyelids. We move ours up and down. Blinking, we call it. It’s like a small black shutter that clicks down and makes a break. Everything goes black; one’s eyes are moistened. You can’t imagine how restful, refreshing, it is. Four thousand little rests per hour. Four thousand little respites—just think!…So that’s the idea. I’m to live without eyelids. Don’t act the fool, you know what I mean. No eyelids, no sleep; it follows, doesn’t it? I shall never sleep again. But then—how shall I endure my own company? Try to understand. You see, I’m fond of teasing, it’s a second nature with me—and I’m used to teasing myself. Plaguing myself, if you prefer; I don’t tease nicely. But I can’t go on doing that without a break. Down there I had my nights. I slept. I always had good nights. By way of compensation, I suppose. And happy little dreams. There was a green field. Just an ordinary field. I used to stroll in it.…Is it daytime now?

 **VALET:**  Can’t you see? The lights are on.

 “That’s it,” Dean announced, in lieu of reading Garcin’s next line. “So…?”

“I like it,” Lisa said, “I think this is a perfect audition choice.”

“Yeah?” Dean felt reassured. “I think—and correct me if I’m completely wrong—in this passage Garcin is kind of…lonely, I guess? He doesn’t really seem scared, but he isn’t in a hurry to be left alone either. Plus, I just think it’s weird that the Valet has no eyelids.”

“That’s excellent!” Lisa was nodding and smiling widely at him; in fact, she looked kind of proud. Dean felt his face warm up a little, but he was pleased.

“So,” he said after a moment, “What passage did you pick for Inez?”

“Oh, it’s a shorter one,” Lisa said, flipping to the place in her book. “Here we go.”

**INEZ:**  Mere chance? Then it’s by chance this room is furnished as we see it. It’s an accident that the sofa on the right is a livid green, and that one on the left’s wine-red. Mere chance? Well, just try to shift the sofas and you’ll see the difference quick enough. And that statue on the mantelpiece, do you think it’s there by accident? And what about the heat here? How about that? I tell you they’ve thought it all out. Down to the last detail. Nothing was left to chance. This room was all set for us.

 “Seems like Inez is the only one who knows what’s going on,” Dean mused when she was done.

“Right? I like how matter-of-fact she is about it. Especially in comparison to Estelle’s denial.”

“They’re pretty opposite characters; makes sense that you had a tough time choosing.”

“I honestly don’t know which one I’m hoping to get more. Assuming I get one at all.”

Dean scoffed. “Are you kidding? You’d be great at either one and I bet Donna will see that. Just don’t be too upset when someone else gets Garcin.”

“As long as Donna doesn’t try to assign me both characters, I’ll be fine.” Lisa joked. “And I think you’re better at this than you realize.”

Dean looked down at his lap, embarrassed at the praise.

“We’ll see.”


	7. Thursday, September 27

Normally he did his damnedest not to be late, but tonight there was no denying his deliberate attempts to postpone the inevitable; his slower gait, the ridiculous amount of time he had spent fixing his coffee _just so_ , his wondering if there was time for a bathroom trip he didn’t need _._ He could guiltily pretend to the rest of the world that this evening was Business As Usual, but he knew the truth.

Dean Winchester was incredibly, irrationally, helplessly anxious.

Which was truly ridiculous, because there wasn’t even anything he really needed to be anxious  _about._ The hard part was over; he’d shown up on Tuesday with the rest of the group and, when he was summoned into the room and given instructions, read through his selected passage for Garcin and walked away with no real idea how he’d done. There certainly hadn’t been any indication that he’d been awful, but even if he had, no one else in the group would ever know.

The only thing that people would learn tonight was which characters would be assigned to which people. It wasn’t like Donna planned on announcing who the _worst_ candidate for any particular character was, so really he had nothing to feel nervous about.

Except, well. Would Lisa be disappointed if he didn’t land the role of Garcin? She was the one who’d pushed him to try out after all, and for a main character no less; what if she liked him less for not living up to her expectations?

Then again, say he _did_ get the part. What then? There was a reason engineering suited him better than most other subjects; memorizing huge amounts of information had never been his strong point. Sure, there was some level of memorization required in his field, but he wasn’t familiar with the equations, theorems, and principles presented in his classes because someone put them on a flashcard and grilled him until he could recite them in his sleep; he knew them by heart because the engineering program emphasized the value of understanding how those kinds of things were derived, how to look at a problem and figure out where to locate the information needed to find a solution. 

The pressure to memorize an entire play seemed a daunting task by itself, never mind memorizing an entire play while keeping up with the rest of his course load and then proving that he knew it by acting the whole thing out on stage.

Which was _another_ thing: acting was way more than just reading lines. It involved expressing the right emotions at the right times, responding appropriately to other characters, moving around the stage the right way, and a slew of other things. Lisa had assured him that an Oscar-worthy performance wasn’t expected of any of them, but Dean was still in no rush to embarrass himself on stage in front of an audience.

If he waited any longer, he was going to be late. With a final shake of his head and a silent admonishment to himself for his hesitation, he pulled the door of the meeting room open.

There was almost always some level of chatter before the theatre group convened officially, but tonight the atmosphere buzzed with excitement and nerves. Lisa waved him over to her table, where he set his bag down.

“I’m so excited!” Lisa exclaimed, clutching at his bicep before he could so much as sit down. “Donna will be here any minute with the list.” She certainly looked as enthusiastic as she sounded, but Dean noted a tremor of nerves in her voice. It reassured him considerably.

Donna opened the meeting room door with a flourish, brandishing a freshly printed sheet of paper. “The results are in!” she crowed, making her way through to the front of the room. “I just want to say: thank you to everyone who auditioned! I know it can be a difficult and nerve-wracking experience.” There were titters of agreement. “I won’t bore you with the platitudinous _‘there are no small parts, only small actors’_ nonsense; I hope you all realize that I value each of you as a part of this production. Now,” she said, sticking the paper to the whiteboard and swiping a thumb dramatically across the tape holding it, “take a look!”

Next to him, Lisa all but leapt out of her seat to make her way forward with the rest of the group. Dean stayed where he was; he’d take a look once the crowd dispersed a bit. The only other people that remained seated were those already designated as members of the stage crew; Castiel and Charlie sat in the back corner, whispering conspiratorially, and Garth was talking animatedly to the guy next to him—Balthazar, Dean thought—their heads bent over a sketchbook, presumably discussing scenery and costumes. At the front of the room, people cheered and congratulated each other as they read the cast list and made their way back to their seats. A moment later Lisa was back, tugging him by the arm. 

“Dean. _Dean!”_ He rose from his chair and let himself be dragged to the front. Lisa bounced excitedly as he scanned the list, stopping when he got to “Estelle”. Lisa’s name was printed next to it. 

“Hey, you got it! Congratulations!” Dean smiled at her. She looked pleased, but slightly confused.

“Thanks,” she laughed, “but did you see who’s playing Garcin?” 

Dean was puzzled. “No, who—?” he started, turning back to the paper.

His mouth fell open and his stomach felt like it was flipping over, though whether that was due to panic or pride he couldn’t tell. Surely his eyes were mistaken because his own name was printed in bold capital letters next to the name “Garcin”.

“I knew you’d make a great Garcin,” Lisa was saying, tugging him into a sideways hug with an arm around his shoulders. Dean could only stand there, shell-shocked.

“I—“ he tried. His jaw clicked shut and he swallowed in an attempt to unstick his tongue. “Me?” he asked, finally.

“We’ll be on stage together! This will be so fun,” Lisa said, steering them back towards their table so other students could have a look. “I can’t wait to get started.”

Dean nodded dumbly, still coming to terms with what this meant. Well, he certainly couldn’t slack off on this _now_ ; Lisa would be counting on him to be an effective co-star. 

They were joined a moment later by Anna, a slender redhead with a gentle face. Dean was often reminded of ballerinas when he looked at her; she always seemed so polished and put together.

“Hi!” she greeted, waving at the two of them. “I probably sort of met you at the mass meeting, but I wanted to formally introduce myself. I’ll be playing Inez!”

“Congratulations!” Lisa said excitedly, “I’m Lisa, and this is Dean. I was just saying how excited I am to get started.”

“Me too!” Anna gushed. “I hope I do Inez justice; I’m cynical, but not _that_ cynical.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Lisa said reassuringly. “I know you’ll both be great.” She put a comforting hand on top of Anna’s and another on Dean’s shoulder. He smiled weakly at the two of them.

“We have a whole semester to practice,” he agreed, “I’m sure we’ll kill it.” He was, in fact, not even remotely sure, at least not as far as his role was concerned. He could only hope that he’d be able to channel the sheer panic he felt into something useful, like the motivation to do well.

“God, I do not envy them,” Charlie said, nodding to the students milling around the paper Donna had brought out. “Just the thought of being on stage under spotlights gives me heart palpitations.”

Castiel snorted. “Aren’t you the reigning Queen of Moondoor? Surely you’re used to regularly being the focus of everyone’s attention, with all the LARPing you do.”

“It’s different,” she insisted, waving a hand dismissively, “If I mess up or go out of character during a LARP session no one really cares; stumbling over words or not knowing how to react sometimes just sort of comes with the LARPing territory.” 

Castiel watched as Lisa hurried back to her chair and spoke excitedly to Dean.

“Like, say I mess up a line on stage,” Charlie went on, “I can’t just turn to the audience and say ‘my bad, let’s try that again’ you know? I’d just have to keep going, but I’d be so freaked out after messing up that I’d probably mess up _more_ , and it would just become an awful vicious cycle of failure.” She covered her face with her hands.

“Relax,” Castiel said gently, “that’s why we’re staying safely behind the scenes. Although I must remind you that at the mass meeting you were excited specifically _because_ it was ‘like LARPing’.” He laughed when Charlie punched him playfully in the arm.

“Shut _up,_ ” she chided exasperatedly, “I’m allowed to be excited about the play without wanting to actually be in it.”

“Of course you are,” Castiel agreed. Charlie smiled, satisfied.

“Evening, Castiel.”

He and Charlie both looked up to see Bartholomew striding towards them. Charlie’s face settled into a neutral expression, but the ice in her eyes was unmistakable. 

“Bartholomew,” Castiel greeted, standing to meet his handshake. 

“I’m surprised we haven’t run into each other here yet; you didn’t come say hello at either of the previous meetings,” Bartholomew smiled, though somewhat sadly.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said, “I was trying to get to know some of the other people we’ll be working with. Did you audition?”

“I did,” Bartholomew confirmed, puffing his chest and tugging his suit jacket straight, “I’ll be playing the Valet.”

“Congratulations.” Castiel offered a small smile.

“Thank you,” Bartholomew said, “I was hoping for the role of Garcin _,_ but God has other plans it seems.” He shrugged. Then, “Will I see you this Sunday?”

There was no need to ask; Bartholomew already knew the answer. Before Castiel could reply Bartholomew continued, speaking to him but looking down at Charlie.

 “As you know, we always encourage our members to bring friends of theirs who are in need of…redemption.” There was a vague sort of smile on his face now, but it didn’t do much to hide his distaste. Charlie met his look with a frigid stare.

 “It’ll be just me this week,” Castiel said hastily. Bartholomew turned his attention back to him. 

“See you there,” he said, before turning and returning to his seat. Castiel sat down again with a sigh.

“I’m sorry about that,” he said to Charlie, reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s fine,” she said sullenly, waving him off, “I understand.”

Eventually, the last student had returned to their seat. Donna resumed her place at the front of the room.

“Congratulations to all of you,” she reiterated. “In the spirit of getting the ball rolling, let’s go ahead and read some lines! No need to memorize just yet; we’re just getting a feel for things tonight.” 

Dean pulled out his copy of the play with the rest of the group. 

“Let’s start right at the beginning,” Donna said. “Garcin _,_ Valet _,”_ she nodded to Dean and Bartholomew respectively. “Off you go.”

Dean looked down at the first page, beyond the stage direction, and began reading aloud.

**GARCIN:**  Hm! So here we are?

 **VALET:**   Yes, Mr. Garcin.

 **GARCIN:**  And this is what it looks like?

 **VALET:**  Yes.

 **GARCIN:**  Second Empire furniture, I observe.…Well, well, I dare say one gets used to it in time.

They weren’t meant to be acting anything out yet, but across the room, Bartholomew shrugged all the same.

**VALET:**  Some do. Some don’t.


	8. Sunday, September 30

“The Bible tells us,” Bartholomew was saying, “ _exactly_ what God expects from us. And yet, people stray anyway. Why?” He paused, for dramatic effect Castiel assumed, to give the crowd a scathing look. “Because their faith is not strong enough. They are distracted by the people who wander around blindly, sinning freely, repenting for none of their transgressions. It is _spelled out for us,_ ” Bartholomew spat, picking up an ornate, well-used Bible from the podium in front of him and brandishing it high above his head, “but does that make those who stray from Christ’s love see reason? No!” He took a deep breath, perhaps to calm himself, before bringing the book down again carefully, reverently. 

“But we must do all we can to love the sinners regardless,” Bartholomew went on, his voice more subdued, “The people who have not yet welcomed God’s redeeming light into their lives are sent to test us, His most faithful flock.” There were murmurs of agreement from the audience. “It is our duty to show these sinners that Christ is willing to forgive them, if only they would admit their faults.” Bartholomew accompanied these words with a mournful bow of his head.

At the back of the room in the farthest row, Castiel brought his hand up to stifle a yawn and slouched lower in his chair. No part of this speech was new to him; he’d spent his childhood hearing more of the same each week at Saving Grace, where the priest would use the sermon to spend an egregious amount of time parading around the same ideas swathed in different jackets.

This was certainly not how he would have chosen to spend his Sunday afternoons. When he’d lived at home, Saving Grace had been a place of sanctuary, though not in the sense one would normally assume of a church. Despite being largely indifferent to the services themselves, he’d managed to cultivate his own little community composed of his fellow churchgoers; together, they’d survived even the most boring of Sunday school lessons, studied the Bible, even participated in the annual Christmas pageant. Still, their closeness proved to be more circumstantial than voluntary; everyone had more or less gone their separate ways once they’d graduated high school. 

No matter. The friendships he’d formed here were more important to him anyway.

Aside from the annual holiday services he was pressured into attending while he was home, he’d declined to spend much time at any of the local churches throughout his undergraduate career, much to his parents’ displeasure. Castiel had come to view his own spirituality as a very personal thing that did not lend itself particularly well to the rigid proclamations of good and evil his childhood church had been so eager to adhere to. There was little point trying to explain this to his parents; impassioned by their religion as they were, they were unlikely to welcome anything other than vehement agreement with the Word of God. It could always be worse, Castiel supposed. Most of their expectations revolved around him representing his family well and making appearances at the church when he was home from school. Nothing worth kicking up a fuss over; easiest to just don his tie, smile, and politely answer questions from his mother’s friends about how his studies were going. 

He looked at the clock and sighed at how little time had passed. Three-quarters of an hour left of this. Up at the podium, Bartholomew seemed to have worked himself into a rage again, but Castiel was no longer listening. 

Truly, it was disheartening to hear Bartholomew speak such vitriol. They’d been friends once upon a time. His family had moved to town the summer before Castiel began third grade. Despite the slight age difference between them, Bartholomew had been readily welcomed into Castiel’s group of church friends. At Saving Grace’s annual barbecue, they had taken turns pulling the new kid along to see the fountain, the best trees for climbing, the little hole behind the rose bushes where a family of rabbits nestled. Castiel and Bartholomew had gotten along splendidly.

That is, until they went off to college.

Higher education had changed both of them, as higher education is wont to do, but in dramatically different ways. Bartholomew had seen a chaotic world rife with impropriety and in dire need of fixing, and he had no qualms about letting his distaste for the people in it show. He’d become cold and hateful (despite his frequent assurances that he was guided by the warmth and love of God), quickly veering from a cheerful follower of God, guiding those who were interested in finding happiness through religion, to looking down his nose at anyone he deemed morally flawed.

In contrast, Castiel had been pleased by the world he saw: a world full of unique and fascinating people with a plethora of ideas, cultures, and experiences that clashed and meshed in brutal and wonderful ways. Messy though it could certainly be, humanity was incredible and full of stories to tell.

Those stories were how Castiel had eventually found his way to the stars. The idea that the night sky was more than just a beautiful blue-black canvas dotted with flecks of light, that indeed it was possible to read stories from the past in its murky depths enraptured Castiel in a way he had never anticipated.

The plan—according to his parents, anyway—had been that he’d pursue a medical career, perhaps in pediatrics or oncology. As it turned out, the pre-med track was incredibly cutthroat, unfriendly, and surprisingly full of conniving people that Castiel was sure would make horrible doctors, should they ever make it that far. Despite his interest in helping people, it hadn’t taken him long to feel overburdened and hopeless. 

Seeking a reprieve from the stress, he’d signed up for Astronomy 101 as an elective one semester and there was no stopping his stargazing after that. Oh, he’d tried to carry on as a pre-med student of course, because he knew his parents would be furious if he veered off their designated path for him. But once he’d reached his junior year the looming threat of med school applications had absorbed so much of his time that he was no longer able to steal an hour or two at the library, hungrily absorbing the latest space-related news and science, which had led to him becoming horribly depressed.

Following that semester, he’d gone home for the holidays bringing with him the news that he was switching his major to astronomy. Predictably, the news had not been received well. There had been yelling, accusations, even a few tears on his mother’s part, but when all was said and done his parents had grudgingly relented, mollified perhaps by the additional news that Castiel planned to work towards a master’s degree immediately following his graduation.

Medical school applications had been tossed aside in favor of an assistantship application. Thanks to an excellent GPA (he’d had to keep it high to stay competitive in the medical track) and Charlie’s generous help with his essays, he’d been offered an assistantship that completely covered his tuition. Even so, several thousands of dollars a semester were still needed for books, rent, groceries, and everything else. 

It had taken another round of arguments to secure his parents’ financial help (which Castiel felt was unnecessarily petty, even given their disappointment in his new career choice; they’d already set aside money to help him through med school, what was the difference?), but his father had eventually acquiesced under one condition: Castiel could not be disconnected from his faith the way he’d been in undergrad. Bartholomew’s mother had mentioned a scholarship Bartholomew had received through the church so, at his father’s insistence, he’d applied to the same scholarship and been readily accepted; Saving Grace would hand him two thousand dollars each year in exchange for good grades and regular involvement with their campus outreach group: Saving Souls Through Saving Grace. His parents would supply whatever remainder he needed.

And so, here he was. Connected to the church only by way of his physical presence at these weekly sermons where Bartholomew or someone equally as inappropriately passionate would denounce the evils that plagued humanity (fidget spinners in church merited the same eternal punishment as pre-marital sex, apparently) and implore those present to encourage others to turn to God. Sometimes it was unclear if the group’s aim was to convert people to Christianity or intimidate them into it.

Aggravating though it was to watch his former friend speak so aggressively about people whose stories he was unwilling to learn, Castiel was always careful not to ruffle any feathers. Had it not been for Bartholomew, Castiel might have been able to stop attending these meetings entirely; there were only a handful of other Saving Grace members here, none of whom would really notice if he wasn’t there. But Bartholomew knew about his scholarship and his dependence on it. What’s more, Bartholomew was not above using his position of leadership in the group to persuade Saving Grace to revoke the scholarship if Castiel started causing trouble. 

“Castiel!” 

He favored the back few rows on the left side because of their proximity to the doors; most weeks he was able to slip away unnoticed as soon as worship ended. Every now and again however, his luck ran out. Steeling himself, he turned to see Bartholomew making his way towards him purposefully.

“Bartholomew,” he greeted with a polite nod, “Good to see you.”

Bartholomew closed the distance between them and caught Castiel in a stiff hug. Castiel settled for awkwardly patting his shoulder until he was released. 

“It’s rare I’m able to catch you before you disappear. Let’s catch up a little.” Bartholomew put an arm around his shoulder and steered him back towards the podium. Castiel sighed internally but didn’t protest.

“Yes, well, it’s rare that I have the time to stick around.”

“There’s always enough time for worship, Castiel,” Bartholomew chided, releasing him as they reached the podium. 

Keeping his eye roll wholly internal took an astonishing amount of effort. 

“Although I suppose I shouldn’t worry,” he went on, “With the theatre meeting twice a week, we’ll have plenty of time to stay in touch.”

Castiel hummed noncommittally, casting about for some excuse that would let him leave.

“I noticed…” Bartholomew leaned against the podium, drawing himself closer to Castiel. “…that you seemed to be quite good friends with the redhead—oh, what’s her name?”

“Charlie?”

“Charlie.” He was still smiling, but it seemed plastered on. “You know,” he went on, leaning forward even further and lowering his voice, “I was serious when I encouraged you to bring others to our worship services. Charlie seems like someone who could benefit greatly from Christ’s love.”

“I see,” Castiel said, already dreading where this conversation was heading. “I’m afraid Charlie has prior commitments on Sundays.” Charlie frequently spent all of Sunday in her pajamas, rotating between video games and television, but that wasn’t any of Bartholomew’s business.

“Shame,” Bartholomew lamented, “In any case, you might consider distancing yourself a bit. It may not be a good idea to spend too much time with her given her…choices.”

Castiel didn’t need to ask what he was referencing; it was a well-known fact that Bartholomew had a special place in his heart reserved specifically for hating and berating the LGBT community. The sting was just as sharp all the same.

This was Bartholomew’s favorite ploy. He was friendly and kind and ready to make whoever he was talking to feel like he deeply valued their companionship right up until he found something, anything he deemed a weak spot, to pick and prod at. It rather reminded Castiel of a baited fishing line. He dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands.

“No?” he said, ice in his voice. “I rather think the world could use more people like her. She’s a very good friend.”

Bartholomew held up his hands defensively. “No need to get upset, just giving you some friendly advice. I would hate for you to be corrupted away from God. Think about limiting your time with people like her.” 

“I will,” Castiel promised through clenched teeth. He turned on his heel, not bothering with goodbyes, and began making his way back to his apartment, where Charlie would undoubtedly be waiting for him with takeout and a list of shows they were due to catch up on.

Still, he was a man of his word. He’d think about limiting his time with Charlie and other people like her.

…

There. He’d thought about it and promptly discarded the idea. 

He smiled grimly to himself at his own small act of defiance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact #3: I'm really excellent at carefully peppering my first drafts with continuity errors. In the first draft of this chapter, Bartholomew kept slamming down a Bible that he never picked up. 
> 
> Bless my beta.


	9. Tuesday, October 2

**INEZ:**  If only each of us had the guts to tell—

 **GARCIN:**  Tell what?

 **INEZ:**  Estelle!

 **ESTELLE:**  Yes?

 **INEZ:**   What have you done? I mean, why have they sent you here?

Dean followed along in his own book as Lisa and Anna spoke back and forth as Estelle and Inez respectively. It had somehow escaped his notice that in addition to memorizing his own lines, he’d need to know the other characters’ lines too since they would prompt his movements and let him know when it was his turn to speak. This scene was more familiar than others though; Lisa had used part of it for her audition as Estelle.

The room had again been arranged in a sort of circular layout, although this time the tables were in use instead of pushed against the walls to free up space. Most of the group was either stealthily fiddling with their phones or doing other work in between glances at the text. Dean, Lisa, and Anna had disproportionately more to do than most since the whole play—even the scenes that involved other characters—was told through the eyes of Garcin, Estelle, and Inez _._  

 **ESTELLE:**  That’s just it. I haven’t a notion, not the foggiest. In fact, I’m wondering if there hasn’t been some ghastly mistake.

Lisa’s voice was rushed in accordance with the stage direction. Even if they weren’t on stage yet, Donna had encouraged them to work on getting the tones and reactions right. 

Lisa turned towards Anna, who was hiding a smile behind her hand.

**ESTELLE:**  Don’t smile. Just think of the number of people who—who become absentees every day. There must be thousands and thousands, and probably they’re sorted out by—by understrappers, you know what I mean. Stupid employees who don’t know their job. So they’re bound to make mistakes sometimes.…Do stop smiling.

Lisa scowled as she recited the end of her sentence. She paused briefly before addressing Dean, her tone changing from exasperation to curiosity.

**ESTELLE:**  Why don’t you speak? If they made a mistake in my case, they may have done the same about you. 

She rounded on Anna again, insofar as she could from her seated position, anyway. 

**ESTELLE:**  And you, too. Anyhow, isn’t it better to think we’ve got here by mistake?

 **INEZ:**  Is that all you have to tell us?

Anna’s voice was carefully innocent, but a knowing smirk curled her lips upward. Lisa glanced down at her page hurriedly before looking back up, her chin held high in defiance.

**ESTELLE:**  What else should I tell? I’ve nothing to hide. I lost my parents when I was a kid, and I had my young brother to bring up. We were terribly poor and when an old friend of my people asked me to marry him I said yes. He was very well off, and quite nice. My brother was a very delicate child and needed all sorts of attention, so really that was the right thing for me to do, don’t you agree? My husband was old enough to be my father, but for six years we had a happy married life. Then two years ago I met the man I was fated to love. We knew it the moment we set eyes on each other. He asked me to run away with him, and I refused. Then I got pneumonia and it finished me. That’s the whole story. No doubt, by certain standards, I did wrong to sacrifice my youth to a man nearly three times my age. 

Dean admired the lilting voice she gave to Estelle; there was just enough pleading that Estelle’s attempt to garner sympathy and willful denial of her situation came through very effectively. Lisa looked to him as she delivered the end of her speech. Dean scanned quickly to find his place.

**ESTELLE:**  Do you think that could be called a sin?

 **GARCIN:**  Certainly not. 

He paused contemplatively, as the stage directions instructed. 

**GARCIN:**  And now, tell me, do you think it’s a crime to stand by one’s principles?

 **ESTELLE:**   Of course not. Surely no one could blame a man for that!

He spoke over her quickly, his voice rising in irritation before returning to its previous volume.

**GARCIN:**  Wait a bit! I ran a pacifist newspaper. Then war broke out. What was I to do? Everyone was watching me, wondering: “Will he dare?” Well, I dared. I folded my arms and they shot me. Had I done anything wrong?

Lisa was too far to actually put her hand on his arm as directed, but she reached a hand forward as though to comfort. 

 **ESTELLE:**   Wrong? On the contrary. You were—

 **INEZ:**  —a hero! And how about your wife, Mr. Garcin?

Dean and Lisa turned their attention to Anna’s boisterous interruption.

**GARCIN:**  That’s simple. I’d rescued her from—from the gutter.

Dean’s voice was halting, searching for the right words. Lisa let out an “aha!” at his justification.

**ESTELLE:**  You see! You see!

 **INEZ:**  Yes, I see.

Anna seemed to ponder something for a moment before rolling her eyes and throwing up her hands in exasperation. 

**INEZ:**  Look here! What’s the point of play-acting, trying to throw dust in each other’s eyes? We’re all tarred with the same brush.

Lisa scowled.

**ESTELLE:**  How dare you!

 **INEZ:**  Yes, we are criminals—murderers—all three of us. We’re in hell, my pets; they never make mistakes and people aren’t damned for nothing.

“And we’ll stop there!” Donna said before they could go on. “I’m so excited to hear you putting emotion into your voices. We’ll keep working on it as the semester goes on. Some notes for this scene,” she rifled back through the pages they’d just read.

“Dean, try to sound a little more defensive in some of the things Garcin says. For example, here,” she came up next to him and indicated a line on the page, “where he says _‘What was I to do?’_ He’s suggesting that his actions were righteous and the only obvious choice.” Dean scribbled a post-it note for himself and stuck it by the line Donna had pointed out.

“Anna,” Donna continued, making her way around the room, “you’ve made Inez sound wonderfully cynical, so keep that up. Just don’t forget about her softer moments too.” Anna nodded, looking pleased. 

“Lisa, excellent work nailing Estelle’s dramatics.” Donna smiled at her. “Next week we’ll start rehearsing on stage,” she said to the room at large, “so everyone, make sure to get familiar with the stage directions for your lines. And, scene!” 

Dean gathered his things and made his way towards Lisa, nodding a goodbye to Anna as she made her way towards the exit. Lisa was standing with Charlie and their friend Jo, who would be playing one of the characters in Estelle’s recollection about her life. 

“The line says _‘She’s pressing her great fat chest against him’_ ,” Jo was saying, sniggering. “Balthazar is going to have to find me one hell of a pushup bra.” Lisa and Charlie laughed along with her.

“Dean!” Jo greeted him, wiping a mirthful tear from the corner of her eye, “Nice read! I have to run,” she said to Charlie and Lisa, “Talk later?”

When they’d said their goodbyes, Charlie turned to give Dean a congratulatory punch on the arm. “Not bad, Garcin,” she said, “You too, Lisa. You have a great speaking voice. I can’t wait to see everything on stage.” Lisa blushed under the praise, smiling.

“Thank you,” she said, reaching for her bag, “I should head out too; I have an assignment due in…” She glanced at her phone. “Yikes, less than three hours. See you later!”

“What am I, minced meat?” Dean teased, once Lisa was out of earshot. Charlie rolled her eyes.

“Shut up, I said I was excited to see everything on stage, didn’t I? You’re included in ‘everything’.”

A swell of anxiety bubbled in his chest. It was already October and so far he’d found very little time between all his other classes to focus on memorizing much. He wasn’t looking forward to having to recite what little he remembered while also trying not to crash into any other people or props. Something must have shown in his face because Charlie’s brow furrowed.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just...” Dean shook himself a little. “I’m a little nervous about how much I have left to memorize, that’s all. Gotta figure out how to say my lines without tripping over anyone.” He laughed, but it was mostly humorless. “Seems like the semester is speeding by.”

“Ugh, tell me about it.” Charlie made a sympathetic face. “I’m in charge of sound, so I have to memorize most of it too. Of course, I can have a script with me up in the booth,” she said, smiling a little, “but that won’t help me much if I space out and can’t find my place.” Dean nodded his understanding.

“Hey,” she said thoughtfully, “Would you want to meet up to run lines sometime? Cas and I like to hang around the gym’s pool at night when we’re studying for something big. A little weird, I know, but the ambience is nice.”

“Um,” Dean said carefully, trying to figure out if Charlie was suggesting what it sounded like, “I could definitely use the help,” he continued, “but…do you mean like…” Charlie was awesome, but very much in a cool sister kind of way. He floundered for the least offensive words to form a rejection, but came up completely blank. “I…think you’re really cool,” he tried lamely, “but I’m not sure about a…date.” He shut his mouth before he could ramble on and tried to look Charlie in the eye. 

Charlie was staring back at him as though he’d grown three extra heads. The silence stretched uncomfortably until finally Charlie gasped and slapped a hand to her forehead.

“Oh my gosh!” she exclaimed, looking equal parts relieved and embarrassed, “Dean, oh my God, no, I—“ She let out a short laugh. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize how that sounded. I wasn’t asking you out,” she clarified. Dean exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “I’m very much not interested in dudes,” she added as an afterthought.

There was another awkward moment of silence while they both processed the misunderstanding, followed immediately by both of them dissolving into peals of laughter.

“Oh wow,” Charlie said finally, “Okay, let’s just skip right over that whole mess.”

Dean nodded as his laughter petered out. “Wow. Anyway, yes. Help with memorizing lines sounds great.”

Charlie nodded a confirmation. “Great. I’ll bring Cas too. He’s in charge of lights, so we’ll be in the booth together. Here, take my number—” She turned around to scribble on a piece of paper and offered it to him, but when he reached for it she tugged it back. “Now, don’t get any ideas, Winchester. This is a strictly platonic phone number exchange.” She smirked teasingly.

Dean swiped the paper from her before she could pull it back again. “Heartily agreed,” he smirked back. 

“We’ll be at the gym tomorrow around eight or so. See you there?”

“Yup.”

He gave her a mock salute before heading out.


	10. Tuesday, October 9

“Dean, if you keep jiggling your leg like that, it may come out of your hip socket.”

Dean willed his leg to stop its relentless rhythm, glancing sheepishly to his left. Lisa’s expression was sympathetic despite her teasing tone.

Not even thirty seconds later he was grinding his teeth against his lower lip harshly, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back— 

“ _Dean_.”

“I can’t help it!”  His hands came up to cover his face as he leaned back against his chair. A muffled sound of dismay found its way through his fingers. Lisa gave his shoulder a few pats that were surely meant to be comforting but did absolutely nothing to quell the anxious somersaults in his stomach. 

“What’s the matter?” 

“I don’t know, it’s just—“ He pulled his hands away from his face so he could see the stage. Donna had Jo and two other students marking out their places for the scene where Estelle watches the people in her life react to her death. “I didn’t realize it would be so…big,” he finished lamely. 

Lisa was patient with him.

“Dean, you’re gonna be _fine_. Listen, I know it looks huge from here,” she gestured at the space around them, “but in my experience, the whole room looks smaller once you’re actually on stage.”

“…Did you just make that up?”

Lisa laughed and shoved at his arm. “No! I promise. Besides,” she pointed up and back to the small control room at the far end of the theatre where Cas and Charlie would be managing the effects, “once the lights are positioned correctly, you couldn’t see past the end of the stage if you wanted to. You could be talking to an empty room for all you know.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously and crossed his arms.

“You’ll see,” she promised.

Twenty or so minutes later, Dean was following Bartholomew, Anna, and Lisa up the stairs on the right side of the stage. Once he was well and truly up there his stomach did one more gymnastic sequence for good measure, but as he turned to face the room he found that Lisa had been right. The theatre looked a little less terrifyingly large from this vantage point.

A _little_. 

“Okie dokie, Dean and Bartholomew, you’ll be the first ones on stage,” Donna said, steering them towards the left wing, “and you’ll enter from here. Valet first, followed by Garcin _._ Once we have the scenery built, there will be a door about here.” She walked to the correct place, pantomiming the shape of a door where she stood. “Dean, wait for Bartholomew to close the door after you before starting your first line. With me so far?”

Dean and Bartholomew nodded. 

“Good!” Donna said cheerily, “Then you’ll come to stand more center-stage,” she said to Dean, tugging him gently to the correct place, “and you’ll stay to his left, closer to the door.” She positioned Bartholomew properly. “And then you’ll have your conversation, and Valet will leave to fetch Inez.” She gestured for Anna and Bartholomew to start on the opposite side of the door.

And so it went. Dean was simultaneously impressed and terrified at how particular the mapping was; sure, he knew that actors didn’t just wander around the stage willy-nilly, but he hadn’t realized how much went into making sure characters weren’t standing in front of each other or too far to one side or hidden behind scenery or a million other things. 

By the end of the meeting he probably could have received Donna’s instructions for the opening scene in his sleep, which granted him a small amount of comfort. There was still so much left to figure out but maybe, _maybe_ he could do this.

“Alright, we made a lot of progress!” Donna said, “Everyone, keep working on your lines; before you know it, we’ll be running through these scenes without our books in front of our noses.” She smiled, clearly excited at the prospect. “An announcement before I let you all go: there will be no meeting this Thursday. Instead, we’ll meet here on Friday to start sorting out costumes for everyone.”

There was excited chattering. 

“If you can’t make it to that session, please let me know,” she added, before closing the meeting the way she always did: “And, scene!”

**Friday, October 12**

Dean had never had any reason to be backstage before, but based on his present situation the term “backstage” was misleading at best and a flat-out lie at worst. Or perhaps the layout of this particular theatre was just especially bizarre. He turned right, exasperated, suspecting he’d already been down this hallway.

Yeah, he definitely had; there was the door to the stairwell again. He cast about fruitlessly for a building map.

“Dean!”

He spun around to see Lisa motioning him over from the stairwell door.

“The dressing rooms are one floor up,” she explained in response to his unasked question. He followed her gratefully and soon they were joining Donna and most of the remaining theatre group.

“I’m glad you all made it here,” Donna was saying as they entered, “This building is good at getting people all turned around. “She winked at Dean. “This will be our backstage area for performance weekend.”

Dean snorted quietly. _Backstage_ , sure. More like through-the-left-wing-down-the-hall-make-a-right-up-the-stairs-immediate-left-first-door-on-the-right stage.

“Balthazar here will be in charge of costuming,” Donna was saying as Balthazar gave the group a small wave and smile, “Today, we’ll take everyone’s measurements so he can decide what we have, what sort of alterations might be necessary, things like that. All measurements will be kept confidential and tossed after costumes are decided upon. Sound good?”

Donna clapped her hands together. “Alright, well, I’ll leave you in Balthazar’s capable hands!” She indicated for Balthazar to take her place before making her way to the far side of the room to rifle through racks of clothing.

“Hello all,” Balthazar said to the group, “As Donna said, we’ll be taking measurements today. Should be a fairly painless process; I don’t know about you lot but I’ve got other plans for the rest of my Friday.” There were chuckles and various sounds of agreement. 

“We’ll split into two groups,” he went on, “Gentlemen, you’ll be taken care of by my good man Castiel,” Balthazar thumped said good man on the shoulder. “And ladies, you’ll be helped by Charlie. Off you go!” 

Lisa waved to him as Anna took her arm and led her to follow the rest of the female cast to where Charlie waited for them. Dean turned to join his group in the opposite corner.

Castiel was already busy measuring someone else. While he waited, he took the opportunity to explore the room from where he stood.

The space was L-shaped and felt warm and bright. Across the room, the girls were being measured in front of several large, well-loved vanities dotted with giant white bulbs and adorned with basic necessities: electrical outlets, boxes of tissues, q-tips, makeup sponges, a spray bottle or two.

Playbills and pictures of past shows dotted the walls, most bearing scribbled well wishes and congratulations from previous cast members. There was even a prop here and there; a heart-shaped locket, a bright red flag, a giant crimson “A”, a white handkerchief with embroidered strawberries. Dean wondered if any of the props from this show would make it onto the wall. 

Just behind him, the room opened into a big space that Dean assumed was used for warming up, or maybe just for giving actors a place to stand around so they weren’t in the way of whoever was getting their makeup done. The far wall behind the clothes racks was covered with a floor-to-ceiling mirror that reflected light back around the room. All in all, it was quite a stark contrast to the dimly lit, dramatic atmosphere of the theatre.

A moment later Castiel called his name and he stepped forward, taking off his shoes and standing in front of Castiel when instructed.

“So how’d you get stuck on this job, Cas?” Dean asked, “I thought your job was lighting.”

“It is,” Castiel said, voice slightly muffled by a safety pin between his teeth, “But Balthazar’s job is to scrape together whatever old costumes we already have and decide which pieces are usable for this production.”

He nodded towards the racks of clothing and Dean turned to see that Balthazar was indeed shuffling through items with Donna, stopping to pull one out for consideration now and again.

Castiel finished scribbling down the remaining measurements from the previous person and flipped to a clean page. “Ideally, he wouldn’t need to buy anything new, but apparently whatever play they did last semester involved a lot of shockingly loud colors.” The safety pin was plucked from its place and dropped onto the nearby table.

Dean snorted. “Sounds like he’s got his work cut out for him.”

Castiel’s mouth quirked up in a sort of wry smile. “Balthazar is finishing a master’s degree in fashion; I have no doubt he’ll find a way to make it work. Arms up.” It took Dean a moment to register the command, but finally, he brought his arms up to form a T. 

“You guys good friends?”

Castiel nodded, wrapping his measuring tape around Dean’s bicep and then his forearm. “We met in our freshman year. He takes some getting used to, but he’s a good person.” 

Dean found himself following the way Castiel’s mouth moved as he spoke. At first glance he would have described his lips as chapped, but when his mouth made certain shapes the creases smoothed out as if they’d never been there. Maybe not chapped after all.

Castiel had finished jotting down numbers and was standing directly in front of Dean now. “I’m going to measure your chest and waist,” he informed, waiting for Dean’s nod of approval before leaning close so he could catch the measuring tape behind Dean’s back. Dean breathed in and caught the smell of sandalwood.

He cleared his throat. “That doesn’t explain why you’re stuck taking measurements instead of playing with lights.”

Castiel pulled his eyes away from the tape around Dean’s chest to look at him directly. 

“Balthazar has plenty to do. I’m happy to help him with the more mundane tasks,” he explained, lowering his gaze back to his work. The measuring tape fell slack as Castiel readjusted it around Dean’s natural waist.

“Mundane, huh?” Dean put a provocative note into the question and Castiel quirked an eyebrow, smirking at him; Dean watched his lips stretch to accommodate the expression.

“What, do you consider taking people’s measurements thrilling?” he challenged. Dean grinned impishly.

“Depends on the person I’m measuring.”

Castiel snorted and stepped back, indicating that Dean could lower his arms. He did so, feeling Castiel’s fingers brushing against his forearms as he snaked the measuring tape around his hips. A small shiver went down his spine.

What was he _doing?_ This was suddenly weirdly close to flirting. 

Castiel had dropped down into a squat to better read the measurement. Once he was done, Dean found himself once again peering into an intense blue stare. 

“The last thing I need is your inseam,” Castiel said. Dean nodded.

One hand held the measuring tape against the inside of his thigh, just barely brushing, while the other circled his ankle, simultaneously keeping the measuring tape and Dean’s leg in place. The hand on his ankle was large and warm, and Dean found himself relishing the contact. 

“Done,” Castiel announced, standing up straight again and reaching for his notebook. “Balthazar should have a costume for you by the next meeting.” He gave Dean a small smile.

“Great,” he said dazedly, “Thanks.”

Castiel turned his attention to Bartholomew, who was waiting off to the side for his turn. Dean turned to go and find Lisa, trying to shake himself out of the weird fog that seemed to have settled around him.


	11. Wednesday, October 17

Charlie had been right; the pool _did_ provide a weirdly comforting ambience. This late at night no one was still swimming; the water splish-splashed gently against the tile walls from time to time and the submerged lights made the water look like it was glowing. 

The rustling pages of his book sounded unnaturally loud in the otherwise quiet space, but almost immediately the noise was joined by shoes squeaking against the slick floor and then Castiel was tugging open the pool door, closely followed by Charlie. 

“Hey!” Charlie greeted with a vulcan salute, plopping down next to Dean. Castiel took the bench below theirs and sat facing them. “You know the drill; let’s learn some lines, bitches!”

“Same as last time?” Castiel asked her, pulling out his book.

“Yep,” Charlie said, “I’ll be Estelle, you’ll be Inez. Dean will be Garcin _,_ obviously.”

“Everyone ready?” Dean asked, “I’m at the same place we left off last week.” He waited for both of them to nod before clearing his throat and starting his lines. 

 **GARCIN:**  They shot me.

 **ESTELLE:**  I know. Because you refused to fight. Well, why shouldn’t you?

 **GARCIN:**  I—I didn’t exactly refuse. 

Dean tried to make his voice sound distant, as though he were talking to himself. 

 **GARCIN:**  I must say he talks well, he makes out a good case against me, but he never says what I should have done instead. Should I have gone to the general and said: “General, I decline to fight”? A mug’s game; they’d have promptly locked me up. But I wanted to show my colors, my true colors, do you understand? I wasn’t going to be silenced. So I—I took the train.…They caught me at the frontier.

 **ESTELLE:**  Where were you trying to go?

 **GARCIN:**  To Mexico. I meant to launch a pacifist newspaper down there. 

He paused, then addressed the next line to Charlie.

**GARCIN:**  Well, why don’t you speak?

 **ESTELLE:**  What could I say? You acted quite rightly, as you didn’t want to fight. 

Charlie looked to him expectantly; he made a vague gesture with his hands, unsure what the stage directions meant by ‘a fretful gesture’. Charlie snorted but went on.

**ESTELLE:**  But, darling, how on earth can I guess what you want me to answer?

 **INEZ:**  Can’t you guess? Well, I can. He wants you to tell him that he bolted like a lion. For “bolt” he did, and that’s what’s biting him.

“What does she mean by that?” Dean interrupted. Charlie was rereading the line with a furrowed brow, seemingly unsure. 

“She’s calling Garcin a coward,” Castiel said, looking up from his pages. “If you skip a few of the next lines—here.” He tapped a place in his book and turned it around so that Charlie and Dean could see where he was indicating. “Start with Garcin’s next line.”

Dean located the correct spot in his own book, cleared his throat, and began to read.

**GARCIN:**  I’d thought it all out, and I wanted to make a stand. But was that my real motive?

 **INEZ:**  Exactly. That’s the question. Was that your real motive? No doubt you argued it out with yourself, you weighed the pros and cons, you found good reasons for what you did. But fear and hatred and all the dirty little instincts one keeps dark—they’re motives too. So carry on, Mr. Garcin, and try to be honest with yourself—for once.

Maybe it should have been jarring hearing Castiel's voice in place of Anna's, but Dean had to admit that there was a soothing lull to the way he recited Inez’s lines; maybe it had to do with the low pitch and the way he rumbled over each word, or maybe it was just because he liked watching Cas’ mouth move from shape to shape—

“Dean?”

Dean started; he’d completely zoned out. Charlie was eyeing him suspiciously, one eyebrow arched high, and Castiel was waiting patiently for whoever was supposed to be reading next.

Oh, _Dean_ was supposed to be reading. He flushed, glad for the dim lighting. “Uh, sorry,” he muttered, scrambling to find his place again. 

**GARCIN:**  Do I need you to tell me that? Day and night I paced my cell, from the window to the door, from the door to the window. I pried into my heart, I sleuthed myself like a detective. By the end of it I felt as if I’d given my whole life to introspection. But always I harked back to the one thing certain—that I had acted as I did, I’d taken that train to the frontier. But why? Why? Finally I thought: My death will settle it. If I face death courageously, I’ll prove I am no coward.

 **INEZ:**  And how did you face death?

 **GARCIN:**  Miserably. Rottenly.

“Oh,” Dean said, foregoing the rest of the line, “I think I get it. Earlier, Garcin made it sound like he was this tough guy fighting—or not fighting, I guess—for what was right, but he turned tail as soon as there was an actual risk.”

Charlie made a sound of understanding and Castiel nodded.

“Exactly. Garcin is revealing his true nature, the way Estelle and Inez already have. He’s a coward, but rather than admit it, he seeks validation and confirmation that he ‘did the right thing’” Castiel made air quotes as best he could with his book still in his hand. 

“Ugh, this is why I prefer programming,” Charlie said, stretching her arms above her head and yawning, “I’m shit at literary analysis.”

Castiel shrugged. “It takes some getting used to, but it’s not so bad.”

“Easy for you to say,” Charlie scoffed, “You spend half your time trying to interpret the stories of the universe, or whatever.” 

Dean chuckled when Castiel rolled his eyes.

“I need a break,” she declared, folding down the corner of a page and closing her book, “Let’s talk about something fun. Halloween plans?”

“Halloween is two weeks away.” Castiel’s tone made Dean think that this was a conversation he’d had with Charlie many times.

She scowled and made a shooing motion at him.

“Halloween is on a Wednesday this year, which blows for so many reasons. To make up for that, I’m starting my celebrations early and you can’t stop me.” She stuck her tongue out for good measure.

Dean grinned. “That’s the spirit,” he praised. “So, what’s on the agenda?”

“This weekend I’m having a bunch of people over for a horror movie marathon,” she explained excitedly, “and then next weekend one of the frat houses is throwing a huge Halloween bash. You should join us! Ignore this fun-sucker,” she added, and Castiel gave her a withering look.

“Sounds like a blast,” Dean said. “Mind if I invite Lisa?”

“Go for it. The more the merrier! In fact, all the more to protect me from horror movie monsters.” Charlie shuddered. “Have you seen _The Grudge_? I _still_ can’t close my eyes in the shower.”

“Don’t show her any sympathy,” Castiel interjected, “She regularly inflicts those kinds of movies on herself knowing full well she won’t sleep properly for a week.”

“That’s why I roped you into being my roommate,” she said matter-of-factly, “You know that face you make, the really stony one you reserve for people who interrupt your beauty sleep? Sauron himself would run from that glare. It’s perfect for scaring off all the ghosties!” She fluttered her eyelashes dramatically, her voice sweet and loving. Castiel narrowed his eyes suspiciously at her.

“I knew it,” he muttered. Dean laughed.

Charlie rifled aimlessly through the pages of her book. “Ugh, there’s so much left to go.”

“Come on,” Castiel pressed, “Let’s do one more section before we leave. That way,” he went on over Charlie’s groaning, “we’ll have earned our movie night.”

_Wednesday, 11:58 PM_  
**_Charlie:_**   _You like him._

Dean stared at the contextless message, dragging a towel absently across his freshly washed hair. He sent back a quick “huh?” before retrieving his favorite sweatpants from where they had been flung over the back of his desk chair. Almost immediately, his phone pinged twice in rapid succession. He set his phone on the bed and tapped his messages open, glancing at them half-heartedly as he stepped one foot into his sweats.

**_Charlie:_**   _Cas!_  
**_Charlie:_**   _you’re crushing on Cas aren’t you_

Dean’s other foot completely missed its target and caught on the waistband sending Dean tumbling over, narrowly avoiding slicing his skull open on the corner of his bedside table. Swearing and grumbling, he pulled himself up and got his pants on properly before snatching up his phone.

**_Dean:_**   _what??_  
**_Dean:_**   _Charlie, no._  
**_Dean:_**   _what the hell made you think that?!_

He tried to think back to anything that might have given her the idea; had she overheard a piece of some conversation out of context maybe? The only thing he could think of was last Friday during costume fittings when he’d accidentally said something sort of flirty. But Charlie had been all the way across the room then.

**_Charlie:_**   _uh, well for one thing, I have functioning eyes._

 ** _Dean:_**   _???!!_

 ** _Charlie:_**   _dude, you were making some intense heart eyes at him at the pool!_

Dean sputtered, the embarrassment from earlier returning to color red all the way down his neck. He’d spaced out while facing Cas’ general direction, so what? He started tapping out a reply, then deleted it, typed a different reply, deleted that one too, typed a third.

**_Dean:_**   _I just spaced out for a second!_

 ** _Charlie:_**   _uh huh. dude, you were practically enraptured. it’s not even the first time you’ve done that._

Jesus Christ, all he’d wanted to do was come home after a long day, have some nice hot food and a warm shower, and maybe binge-watch some Netflix before he fell asleep. Instead, his heart rate was up and he was pacing around his room trying to find a diplomatic way to convince Charlie that she was totally off the rails about this.

**_Dean:_**   _look, Cas is a cool guy, but I’m really not into him like that. for one thing I’ve only known him for a few weeks, and for another_   
**_Dean:_**   _well, let’s just go with ‘he’s not my type’_

 ** _Charlie:_**   _what IS your type then?_

 ** _Dean:_**   _women_

 ** _Charlie:_**   _you sure?_

 ** _Dean:_**   _yeah Charlie I’m sure_

Dean crossed his arms and frowned down at his phone. The ellipses that indicated Charlie was typing appeared and disappeared a few times before a new message popped up.

**_Charlie:_**   _Okay, well, my bad then. my gaydar must be off. I didn’t mean to make assumptions or make you uncomfortable or anything_

He bit at his thumbnail anxiously; he didn’t want her to feel bad or, worse, think he was some kind of bigoted asshole.

**_Dean:_**   _Don’t worry about it :)_  
**_Dean:_**   _and listen I hope you know I got no problems with dudes liking other dudes; love is love and all that_

 ** _Charlie:_**   _not gonna lie, I was a little worried. thought I was gonna have to kick your ass Winchester. I may be small but I’m scrappy as fuck_

Dean chuckled; at yesterday’s meeting, Charlie had overheard Bartholomew make an offhand, definitely homophobic jab about Inez’s efforts to court Estelle. Cas had had to physically restrain her from leaping across her desk and clocking him in the jaw, a feat apparently requiring enough effort that the outline of his bicep muscle was visible even through the cotton of his long-sleeved shirt. 

He never wanted to be on the receiving end of that fury (although he’d pay someone significant money to see Charlie wail on Bartholomew).

**_Dean:_**    _I believe you, please let me live_

 ** _Charlie:_**  

 ** _Dean:_**   _you just kind of caught me off guard is all_  
**_Dean:_**   _See you tomorrow?_

 ** _Charlie:_**  

Dean finally got into bed and flopped back against his pillows with a relieved sigh. He tugged his laptop across the covers and into his lap; there was still time for at least one episode of Dr. Sexy. 

**Saturday, October 20**

Six-pack in hand, Dean knocked on the door of Charlie and Cas’ place and was greeted with dimmed lighting, the smell of popcorn, and a handful of people he mostly didn’t recognize settling in around the living room.

“A token of appreciation,” Dean said, bowing slightly before holding out the six-pack. Charlie took it and lead him through to the kitchen.

“No Lisa?”

“Nah,” he said sadly, “she went home for the weekend. She says thanks for the invite though, and she’s coming to the party next week.” He opened one of the beers from his six-pack before tucking the rest into the fridge. 

“It’s gonna be awesome; my costume is so close to ready.”

Back in the living room, Dean followed Charlie to the couch. She swatted at Castiel’s legs, which had been resting on the coffee table, and sat down next to him. Dean plopped down on his other side, sighing comfortably at the plush cushions. 

“Alright bitches,” Charlie announced to the people sprawled about her living room, “Let’s get scary. If you’re anything like me, I recommend finding a buddy that can fight off evil forces for you. Alternatively, just keep drinking until you feel brave enough to fight off evil forces yourself.” People laughed as she clutched Castiel’s arm tightly before pressing play. “First up is _The Grudge_.”

“I thought _The Grudge_ freaked you out so bad you can’t shower with your eyes closed,” Dean said over the ominous opening music. Charlie shrugged nonchalantly and popped a piece of candy into her mouth.

“It did,” she confirmed, “but it’s a great movie!” 

“I told you,” Castiel said with an exasperated look, “She brings it on herself.” 

It did turn out to be a pretty good movie; plenty of jump scares to keep everyone in the room on edge, but enough actual plot that he cared where the story ended up. He might not have been as vocal as Charlie and Cas’ other friends (Dean was sure the girl in the corner had studied opera at some point if the notes she was hitting were any indication), but more than a few scenes sent his heart rate shooting up momentarily. One particularly ill-timed scene startled him as he was taking a sip of beer; luckily he was able to hide his coughing fit in the crook of his arm.

Eventually, someone got up to pop in the sequel and everyone took a moment to stretch and replenish drinks. When everyone was seated again the movie started, but Dean found he had some trouble concentrating. During everyone’s readjustment, Charlie had pulled her legs up to tuck under her, angling herself slightly sideways. This seemed to provide faster access to the protective fortress that was Castiel’s shoulder, but it meant just slightly less space for the remaining two couch occupants.

He could feel Cas’ thigh pressed along the length of his own and it was throwing him for a loop. There was nothing inherently weird about it; the couch wasn’t huge and Charlie jostled Castiel a bit every time she turned to hide under his arm. A few minutes later, Castiel yawned and stretched his arms up, letting them come back down to splay across the back of the couch like something out of a cheesy romantic comedy. Dean cleared his throat, embarrassed, as heat prickled along his neck and over his jaw. 

He was being ridiculous. Cas’ right arm was just as much around Charlie as his left was around Dean. In fact, at the very next jump scare, Charlie squealed and tucked herself against his shoulders, peeking warily through her fingers.

Surely other people had noticed the gentle woody scent that seemed to linger around Cas; what did it matter if Dean found it comforting? Lots of people smelled good.

This was Charlie’s fault, really. If she hadn’t messaged him about his supposed crush on Cas, he wouldn’t be acting…well, like he actually had a crush on Cas. Now that the idea had wormed its way into his mind he couldn’t shake it, especially since he didn’t really know what made Charlie think it in the first place. Equally frustrating was the fact that in addition to being hyperaware of his own actions, he was now also reading far too much into _Castiel’s_ actions. Dean sincerely doubted that he’d intended for his arm across the back of the couch to be some kind of subtle hint; Castiel seemed very much the type to approach flirting with equal measures of embarrassing bluntness and flattering sincerity, not with moves from a trashy romance novel.

But it was a moot point anyway because _why_ did it matter whether or not Castiel was flirting with him? It didn’t. Charlie was wrong; he wasn’t any more interested in Cas than Cas was in him. If she pulled her face out of Castiel’s t-shirt long enough to look around, she’d see two friends sitting side-by-side on a couch watching characters who really should have known better provoke supernatural entities. Nothing more.

Dean took a long draw of his beer and willed himself to stop being an idiot.


	12. Friday, October 26 Part 1

“Oh my god, you are the _worst_ wingman! How am I supposed to find a pretty lady to take home tonight if you’re whining at me instead of talking me up?” Charlie reached up to adjust the ornate headband she was wearing before reaching over and adjusting the twinkling halo of fairy lights on Castiel’s head.

“I would be a horrible wingman whether or not I was whining,” he insisted as she fidgeted with the lights, “And I _wasn’t_ whining.”

“Sure you weren’t, Galaxias.” Charlie rolled her eyes at his grousing and smiled, tugging him along towards the fraternity house. Students spilled out onto the lawn, laughing and hollering at one another and dancing along to the distinctly audible music coming from inside the house.

Frat parties were decidedly not his thing. In his freshman year, he’d turned briefly to greek life in the hopes of finding some sort of community; he’d survived rush week (barely) and even managed to snag a bid from a fraternity comprised nearly entirely of pre-med students. 

It had taken about three weeks of inane initiation tasks, verbal abuse, and mandatory parties where he’d been pressured to drink way too much alcohol for him to decide firmly that this was not the type of community he wanted. The brothers hadn’t been all that brotherly anyway; it seemed the only thing keeping most of them in each other’s circles were the giant greek letters on the front of the house.

Every year since, he mostly steered clear of the loud parties full of too-drunk students wandering about the dingy houses. Charlie was fairly introverted herself, but every now and again the mood struck her to go out and be wild for a little while. It was no coincidence that she always got into those moods around October; Halloween was easily her favorite holiday. The first year they’d met, she’d pleaded with him to accompany her to a holiday bash. He’d been confused at first—Charlie was perfectly independent and much better at socializing than he was, what could she possibly gain by having him tag along?

After a bit of floundering (which by itself had Castiel on edge; Charlie didn’t mince words), she had admitted that she’d heard enough horror stories about things happening to women at frat houses that she didn’t feel safe going without someone she trusted. Castiel had felt his heart rate increase aggressively when he realized what Charlie was implying; she wanted him there in the event of a worst-case scenario. He had steadfastly agreed to keep her safe at whatever parties she went to from then on.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t grumble about it.

Charlie let go of his hand to push her way through two frat brothers blocking the entrance to the house. They jeered at them but stayed outside. 

“I’m going to get a drink,” Castiel yelled to Charlie over the music, “Come find me if you need me, okay?” 

Charlie nodded, not bothering to shout, and pointed to indicate that she was going to make her way around the room for a bit. Castiel winked and gave her a thumbs up.

The kitchen was easy to spot from where he stood, but getting to it was another matter entirely. He weaved his way around groups of people, using his bulk to push through when yelling didn’t work. Eventually, he stumbled his way into the kitchen and over to the large table that had been set up for drinks.

“What can I get ya?” The speaker was one of the frat brothers, naked from the waist up except for a plastic lei around his neck, a neon green baseball cap, and matching sunglasses. It was unclear to Castiel what his costume was supposed to be.

“Jungle juice is fine,” he shouted to the faux bartender. A vaguely sticky plastic cup was shoved into his hand. He grimaced when he took a sip.

“Clarence, is that you?”

Only one person called him ‘Clarence’. He turned to find Meg Masters dressed in a corset and small shorts, smirking at him with dark red lips. A pair of red plastic demon horns sat slightly crooked on top of her head. 

“Meg, it’s good to see you,” he said sincerely. When he’d first met Meg, she’d intimidated the hell out of him. She was pretty,but rather no-nonsense. When her expression was neutral, the corners of her mouth pulled just slightly downward as if she were on the edge of a scowl and her eyes held something sharp and cunning. Once he’d gotten used to her she proved to be a reliable friend, although he rarely saw her now that she was well into medical school. 

“How have you been?” he asked, offering his arm and gesturing for them to move out of the crowded kitchen. She took it and led him through the throngs of people (one stare from Meg sent most scurrying out of their way; that was just the kind of presence she had and Castiel knew she liked it that way) until they were standing against a wall.

“Oh, you know,” She sipped her drink. “Another day, another person being a baby about rectal thermometers. But I don’t want to talk about work,” she said, grinning at him with clear intent.

The temptation to go beyond friendship with Meg wasn’t new to him; she was beautiful, not only in appearance but in the absolutely unyielding way she handled the kinds of situations the medical field threw at her. Sure, she’d probably get complaints about her bedside manner (or lack thereof), but her brashness was born of an innate desire to get people through the toughest of times as quickly as possible, and Castiel found her resilience truly admirable. Despite all that, they’d never had much occasion to address whatever spark lingered between them.

Meg reached up to smooth a hand over his shoulder and down his bicep, flicking at one of the fairy lights decorating his torso. Her fingers curled, nails scraping pleasantly against his skin through his shirt.

“What are you supposed to be, anyway?” she asked, “The night sky?”

“A galaxy,” he blurted, taking a few gulps of his drink for courage. Perhaps this was why he’d never made a move on Meg; he really had no clue how to navigate this kind of social situation. “But good guess,” he added belatedly. Meg laughed.

“It looks good on you,” she said, swaying into his space. “You know, Clarence, you look almost angelic.” Her hand was pressed against his chest now. “What do you think will happen if an angel and a demon get together?” His fingers twitched against his cup.

“I…don't know what I’m doing,” he admitted feebly, assuming he was supposed to continue with something suggestive but coming up absolutely blank. Meg reached down to take his hand and brought it to her waist.

“I’ll show you.” He didn’t hear the words so much as feel them pressed against his lips before Meg caught his mouth with hers properly. His mind buzzed with interest; the cup in his hand fell carelessly to the floor as he brought the now free hand up to cup her cheek, tightening his grip on her waist.

Meg hummed against his lips, licking across the seam of his mouth and flicking teasingly against his tongue when his lips parted. He pushed her back against the wall, pressing close and mimicking her movements. One of her legs slid up the outside of his and he dragged a hand down to hoist her thigh tighter around him.

It was hard to keep track of his thoughts; he’d only had about half of his jungle juice but it’d been strong. He dipped his tongue into Meg’s mouth, swallowing the low moan she responded with before pulling himself away to look at her.

She was breathing heavily, the swell of her breasts inside the corset rising and falling, mouth parted, lipstick smudged slightly at the edges. Her eyes were wide and wanting, the bright green amplified even in the low light—

Castiel shook his head. Meg didn’t have green eyes. He brought a hand up to scrub at his face. 

“You alright?” Meg asked warily. Castiel looked at her again. Her eyes were brown, like they’d always been. He gulped.

“Sorry, I…” He fumbled for words. “I need to find my friend…”

Meg sighed, looking resigned but understanding. “Too bad Clarence; we could have had fun together.”

“I’m sorry,” he offered, but Meg waved his apology away.

“No worries,” she said, the lascivious smirk returning to her lips, “I’ve got plenty of other options tonight.” He was immensely grateful that he knew her well enough to know this wasn’t just a cop out or a dig at his pride; there were probably at least ten other people here who were willing to get into Meg’s bed and she knew it. “But hey,” she added, catching him by the wrist as he turned to leave, “if you ever want to pick up where we left off, you know where to find me.” 

Castiel squeezed her hand gently before leaving to find Charlie.

At some point, someone had set out a fog machine somewhere in the house. The wisps of vapor combined with the strobe lights and moving bodies made it difficult to differentiate between individual people. Castiel stayed close to the wall as he made his way through the living-room-turned-dance-floor, regretting dropping his half-full cup of jungle juice earlier. Charlie hadn’t been among the throng of dancers (not that he’d seen, anyway) so he started back towards the kitchen for another drink; maybe he’d spot her along the way.

Just as he was passing under the decorated archway that led to the dining room, he heard a familiar laugh; he looked around in time to see Lisa a few bodies away, tugging at the hand of someone behind her. For a split second one of the strobe lights pointed in just the right direction and Castiel recognized bright green eyes and an unfairly symmetrical face.

Just as suddenly, the light had moved elsewhere and Castiel blinked, wondering if his mind was playing tricks again. Surely he hadn’t imagined Meg with _Dean_ ’s eyes. He redoubled his efforts to find booze first and Charlie second.

Once he’d gulped down half a cup of jungle juice (and after the impressed frat boys in the kitchen insisted he do a shot with them before giving him another refill), he went back to searching the masses for familiar red hair and spotted it almost immediately.

Charlie was leaning against the stairwell, talking to a pretty brunette dressed as some sort ofexplorer; it looked like she was making headway and Castiel felt bad for interrupting her, but he still felt slightly disoriented from whatever weird tricks his mind was playing on him and needed help grounding himself.

Ironic, he would think later, that he was meant to be there as Charlie’s guardian when he was the one feeling a little helpless.

Charlie smiled when she noticed him hovering nearby. 

“Hey, there you are!” She yanked him over, causing his cup to slosh dangerously. “Dorothy, this is Cas. Cas, Dorothy.” Dorothy smiled pleasantly at him.

“Dorothy the Explorer,” he heard himself saying, tongue loosened by alcohol, "Like the show." Dorothy and Charlie laughed.

“The actual show is _Dora_ the Explorer, but I figure my name is close enough,” Dorothy half-yelled over the noise, “I’m impressed! You’re the first person to guess my costume by yourself.”

“He cheated,” Charlie replied, narrowing her eyes playfully at him, “It’s easier when he already knows your name.”

“True enough,” Dorothy conceded. 

“What about you Galaxias, found anyone interesting to talk to?” Charlie yelled.

He opened his mouth to tell her about Meg, but his jaw clicked shut at the last second and he shook his head.

“Hey Charlie, have you seen Dean?” he asked instead.

“No, why? Were we supposed to meet him?” She pulled out her phone to check for missed messages.

“No, it’s just—I thought I saw him…” he trailed off and took another mouthful of his drink. Charlie shrugged. 

“If he’s around, I’m sure we’ll run into him.” Castiel nodded absently, not seeing Charlie’s questioning look.

“Sorry, I—“ he looked up at Dorothy, who had been watching their conversation in polite silence. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He straightened himself and looked around. “It was nice to meet you, Dorothy the Explorer.” He held out his hand for a shake and she took it, her grip firm.

“And you, Galaxias.”

“Wait, where are you going?” Charlie asked as he turned to leave. He shrugged one shoulder.

“To watch the stars.” 

Now that he was good and drunk it seemed pointless to try to make sense of the layout of this house. Instead, he went back to the kitchen, accepted another drink, and asked the faux bartender (a different one; the guy with the plastic lei was elsewhere) if there was a porch he could hang out on.

The guy had given him a weird look, presumably because it was cold out, but directed Castiel to the patio at the back of the house. It took him a few tries to find the correct hallway and he had to elbow his way past at least six people engaged in heavy make-out sessions, but eventually he could see rays of pale blue moonlight on the worn carpet coming from down a hall to his left. Maybe he’d run into Dean later (assuming he was actually here and not a bizarre figment of Castiel’s imagination) and they could talk for a while; come to think of it, they’d never really been alone together in any capacity— 

He turned the corner and nearly crashed directly into another couple. He began to mumble an apology, but the pair didn’t seem to have noticed him and the words died in his throat when he recognized them. 

Dean was definitely here alright, though it didn’t seem like he’d be amenable to Castiel’s company at the immediate moment. He and Lisa were in much the same position he’d been in with Meg; Castiel watched as Dean tilted his head to get a better angle and pressed back in. 

_Garcin has fallen for Estelle after all_ , he mused.

He hurried past them, sure they’d be angry if they separated and noticed him staring. The patio doors were just ahead and once he pushed his way through them he found himself blissfully alone, the music muffled quite effectively once the door clicked shut behind him. 

He sighed, feeling unusually keyed up; his cup crinkled in his hand and Castiel belatedly realized he was gripping it unnecessarily tightly. What had gotten into him?

He turned his face skyward and searched the darkness for any visible constellations; there was too much light pollution to see much, but if he squinted he could make out Orion’s Belt over the tree line.

The smell of the crisp night air soothed him; the cold was worth it for the time being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact #4: The author is at least three of the ten people willing to get into Meg's bed.


	13. Friday, October 26 Part 2

There was a skip in Dean’s step as he made his way through Lisa’s apartment complex, passing other partygoers decked out in fabulous and weird costumes alike. He got an appreciative cheer from one group of girls who had clearly been pre-gaming and he gave them a wink and finger guns as he passed, feeling confident.

He tapped rhythmically on the door of 328C and a moment later the door opened to Lisa, decked out in a beaded flapper dress in shades of blue and green. A gloved hand held a long fake cigarette demurely to her lips and the blue feather clipped to the side of her head looked especially vibrant against her dark hair. She gave Dean a sultry look before dissolving into giggles, spreading her arms and giving him a twirl. The string of pearls hanging around her neck clacked gently. 

“What do you think?”

Dean gave her a slow, purposeful once over. “Gotta love the roaring 20’s,” he said, “You look great!”

Satisfied, she plucked a jacket from behind her door and made her way out. 

“You look pretty great yourself, Icarus,” she said, giving him a once over of her own. She took his arm when he offered and together they sidled down the hallway towards the exit.

“I was going for Hermes, I think,” Dean laughed, “but Icarus works too. And thank you. You know us Greek gods; too long without any adoration from mortals and we get into all kinds of trouble.” 

The wind was cold against his exposed calves and right shoulder, but luckily Lisa (who was also shivering, despite her jacket) lived very close to Frat Row, as it was infamously known. No more than ten minutes later they were disappearing into the warmth of a crowded frat house.

“I’m gonna put my coat somewhere,” Lisa yelled over the din. 

“I’ll get us drinks. What do you want?”

“Surprise me!” She disappeared into the crowd.

He fought his way through the crowds to find the kitchen, procured two cups of jungle juice, and returned to find Lisa near where they’d come in. He offered her a cup and raised his glass in a cheer.

Lisa coughed at the first mouthful and even Dean couldn’t keep a small grimace entirely off his face. 

“Jeez,” Lisa said, “I hope this gets better the more I drink.”

“It didn’t seem worth the risk to ask anyone to make me mixed drinks,” Dean explained, “the guys manning the bar are already plastered; probably would have ended up with something horrifying, like jaeger and milk.”

“Touché,” she replied, sticking out her tongue in disgust. There was a shout of laughter behind them, followed closely by a crash and a body tumbling down at their feet, very nearly barreling Lisa over.

“Let’s get out of the entryway,” she yelled, grabbing his hand and tugging. He followed her through the archway to the living room, which was completely dark except for strobe lights that flashed around the room, changing colors at random. 

Spots appeared in his vision as one of the lights caught him square in the face; thankfully it was off in another direction a second later. He followed Lisa blindly, blinking to readjust his eyes, as she led them to an unoccupied stretch of wall. Finally, his vision settled back to normal and he took in the dancing bodies in front of them.  

“C’mon,” Lisa said, taking his cup and placing it next to hers on the closest nearby surface, “Dance with me?”

Dean nodded and followed her into the crowd. Lisa immediately began moving her hips in time with the beat, rolling and twisting sensuously, but Dean hesitated; he’d never felt particularly confident about his dancing abilities, at least not in this context. Lisa noticed that he was doing little more than bobbing his head to the music and put her hands on his waist, pushing gently to get him to match her swaying. It felt a little awkward at first, but once he got the rhythm he slowly began to loosen up. 

Lisa brushed one hand upwards from his waist across his chest and shoulder to wrap behind his neck. Dean shivered as her fingers skittered past his exposed collarbone. He brought his hands up to rest hesitantly at her waist, waiting to hold more firmly until she gave a nod of approval.

“Heeeyy, you guys made it!” 

They stopped dancing to find the source of the exclamation. Charlie had materialized out of nowhere and was grinning at them lopsidedly.  

“I’m so glad you’re here! Wow, look at you!” She reached up to pat both hands gently against Dean’s cheeks. Dean laughed at her obvious inebriation and caught her wrists. 

“How ya holdin’ up, champ?”  

Charlie just smiled and gave him a thumbs up. Lisa giggled beside them and Charlie gasped as though she’d only just realized she was there.

“Oh my gosh, you’re _gorgeous_! I mean your _outfit_ looks gorgeous—I—” Lisa hid her laughter behind her hand as Charlie flailed for words. “…I like your costume,” she finished sheepishly. “I’m so sorry, I might be drunker than I thought.” 

“Don’t worry about it, you’re so cute!” Lisa looked nothing but flattered. “I love your costume, by the way,” she added, indicating the silver gown with red and gold trimmings that draped gracefully off Charlie’s shoulders and flared out at the waist. “I have to admit though, I don’t recognize you.”

Charlie clutched at her skirt, swishing the fabric back and forth prettily. “Thank you! It took forever to get the puffy sleeves right,” she said, gesturing to said puffy sleeves. “I’m Ada Lovelace! She published the very first computer algorithm in the 1840s, making her the first computer programmer.” 

“Oh, that’s awesome!” Lisa said, and Charlie nodded proudly.

“Oh!” Charlie exclaimed a moment later, looking pointlessly around the dark room, “Dean, Cas was asking about you earlier.” 

“I’ll look for him later,” Dean promised. 

“Okay,” she said cheerfully, apparently appeased. “Well, I probably don’t need another drink, but I’m not here to make good choices. Later bitches!”

Dean and Lisa laughed and waved her off.

As the next song swelled they resumed dancing, staying close lest they get their toes stepped on by other, more inebriated dancers. Some pushy guy in a sports jersey slid up behind Lisa and pulled her flush against him. She tried to wave him off but the jerk kept insisting, pushing at her hips to keep rocking against her. It wasn’t until Dean stepped around behind the guy and grabbed two large handfuls of his ass that he finally yelped and scurried away, swearing. Lisa’s withering glare followed him all the way out of the room.

She gave Dean a grateful look and motioned for them to leave the dance floor. After some twisting and turning through drunk shenanigans and horny college students, they found themselves in a less populated hallway lit almost solely by the moonlight streaming in from the glass doors at the end of the hall. 

“Thank you,” Lisa said sincerely, still a bit flushed and looking irritated.

“Don’t mention it,” Dean replied, patting her on the shoulder sympathetically. “Assholes like that are always the type to turn tail and haul ass in the other direction as soon as another dude puts the moves on them.” Lisa laughed, the frown between her eyes easing.

“I should bring you out with me more often.” She smiled fondly at him. Dean looked down at his shoes and rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, embarrassed.

“You know,” she said softly; Dean looked up to find she’d leaned a little closer. “I really like you, Dean.” 

His eyes slid shut as their mouths connected in a chaste kiss. Dean waited expectantly for his stomach to swoop or his blood to rush or his head to spin, but no such feeling was forthcoming. He put a little more pressure into the kiss, tilting his head to slot their lips together better, but to no avail. Behind him, the air stirred as someone walked by; Dean could have sworn he smelled sandalwood.

He pulled away a moment later; he couldn’t decide if he was confused or frustrated, but he schooled his face into what he hoped was a cheeky smile. He didn’t want Lisa to be offended.

When he studied her, however, he was surprised (and maybe a little relieved) to find her looking similarly conflicted.

“Um…was that…?” Lisa trailed off, bringing her fingers to pat against her lips. 

“…kind of weird?” Dean finished hesitantly, hoping they were on the same page but nervous that he was totally off-base. He needn’t have worried. Lisa’s face broke out into a sheepish smile and she nodded.

“Yeah. I mean,” she hurried to add, “No offense! I just…” 

“Hey, none taken. And none intended, either.”

“I really do like you!” she insisted, “I guess just…not in the way I thought I did.” 

Dean smiled reassuringly and pulled her into a gentle hug. She squeezed around his middle and buried her cheek against his toga.

“So…friends?” Dean asked when they pulled apart, holding out his hand. Lisa laughed.

“Friends,” she agreed, grabbing his hand and shaking firmly, as though ending a successful business meeting. They broke into laughter again.

“I’m gonna grab another drink,” Lisa said, once she caught her breath, “Do you want one?”

“Nah,” Dean replied, surprising himself, “I think I’m gonna get some air.” He motioned to the glass doors at the end of the hall. “I’ll find you later.” Lisa nodded, giving him one last small smile before heading for the kitchen.

He sighed heavily. What had gone wrong? Six weeks ago he would have been ecstatic at the idea of kissing Lisa; he certainly didn’t like her _less_ after spending the last few weeks being theatre buddies. He mentally shooed away the voice in his head (which had a strange tendency to sound like Sam) that was trying to pick apart when his interest in Lisa had shifted from romantic to platonic. There would be time to worry about it later. 

For now, he made his way to the patio doors and swung them open, shivering against the frigid air. Charlie had said Castiel was looking for him; maybe in a few minutes he’d go back in and look for—

“Hello, Dean.”

Well, that could’ve been a lot harder.

“Hey Cas,” he said, looking him up and down curiously. The sleeves of his black button down were rolled up halfway despite the chill, but more interesting were the strings of small LED lights; one tied around his waist, the ends dangling loosely against dark jeans, another haphazardly draped around his torso, and a third wrapped into a circlet perched carefully on his head. The blue-white pinpricks of light made him look strangely ethereal.

“I like the lights,” Dean said, moving to stand next to Castiel where he leaned against the wooden railing. “Are you supposed to be an angel?”

Castiel reached up tothe halo of lights on his head. “They’re meant to be stars,” he explained. “I’m a galaxy.”

“Clever,” Dean praised. Castiel nodded solemnly, turning to look at him fully for the first time. Dean couldn’t help the hitch in his breath; the light from Cas’ star halo made his eyes, startlingly intense on an average day, look like they were glowing with some barely contained raw power. Dean stared openly and found himself wondering dimly, ridiculously, whether Castiel was actually human at all, or whether he was some millennia-old entity masquerading as one. 

“Aren’t you cold?”

The deep, familiar rumble did nothing to break the spell; Castiel’s voice was thunder to match the crackling energy in his eyes. 

Dean jumped when a hand landed on his exposed shoulder, warm and large. The spell broke at last. He forced himself to swallow and clear his throat, tried to convince his vocal cords back into motion.

“Sorry, I…I think I had too much to drink.” It was a goddamn lie and he knew it; he’d only had one drink the whole night. Castiel seemed to buy it though. He removed his hand and turned back to face the sky. There was silence, save for the muffled swells of music coming from inside, and Dean breathed deeply to steady himself. On each lungful lingered the barest hint of sandalwood, the scent musky and familiar, and Dean breathed deeper still. 

“I should congratulate you,” Castiel said eventually. Dean looked over at him, puzzled, but his gaze remained outward. “Estelle and Garcin, happy together after all.”

Dean guessed this was an explanation of some sort, but the meaning escaped him. 

“I saw you with Lisa,” Castiel clarified, glancing sideways at him, the corners of his mouth twitching up in a small smile. 

“Oh,” Dean said, letting out a low chuckle as he turned back to watch the sky. “They tried,” he corrected, responding to Castiel’s reference in turn, “but I think they’re destined to just be really good friends. In this universe, anyway. Besides,” he laughed, elbowing Cas gently in the side, “Lisa’s great, but I don’t think I could spend an eternity in the same room even with her.” Castiel hummed in cheerful agreement.

“You know what the _worst_ part about _No Exit_ is, Dean?”

“What’s that, Cas?” 

Castiel tilted his head further back so that he was looking almost directly above them; when he next spoke he sounded almost forlorn.

“If I were trapped in a room I couldn’t escape for the rest of eternity, how would I see the stars?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact #5: The last four lines of this chapter are actually the very first lines I wrote of this story.


	14. Wednesday, October 31 Part 2

“I just don’t understand why you didn’t say anything.”

Dean’s book hung loosely from his hand, more or less forgotten. Castiel had tried more than once to steer them back to running lines, but Charlie’s conspicuous absence made it very difficult to concentrate on memorizing anything.

Especially because Castiel was at least partly responsible for her absence.

“It’s _complicated_ ,” Castiel insisted. 

Though his voice was level, Dean could tell his patience was wearing thin. Perhaps that should have deterred him from pressing the issue further, but he couldn’t help himself. He _wanted_ Castiel to lose his patience because that’s what should have happened in the first place. Castiel had no right to stroll into the gym cool as a cucumber and acting like nothing was out of the ordinary, like Charlie wasn’t alone somewhere, angry and upset. 

“Can we please get back to the play? Your next line is—“

“ _No,_ Cas. Why aren’t you bothered by—”

Castiel slammed his own book shut and stood abruptly, giving Dean an icy look before striding towards the cubbies near the entryway and snatching up his bag. 

“I _am_ bothered,” he growled, unzipping the bag forcefully and shoving his book inside, “Bartholomew was incredibly rude to Charlie and I wish I could have said something at the time, but I couldn’t.”

“Why not?” Dean rose from the bleachers too.

“I’m not interested in discussing the specifics with you,” Castiel growled, hoisting his bag onto one shoulder. “Charlie is aware of my circumstances and doesn’t hold it against me. I’ve already apologized to her for my inaction. If you're not willing to work tonight, I'm going home.”

Dean crossed his arms and snorted derisively.

“You know, sometimes an apology doesn’t cut it,” he said, “Sometimes, having friends that you can count on to stand up for you matters more.” 

Charlie hadn’t even _done_ anything to provoke Bartholomew; she’d been cheerfully regaling Lisa with some story or another when he’d wandered past and abruptly decided he couldn’t keep his bigotry to himself a moment longer.

“You should be careful not to get too familiar,” he’d said to Lisa, not bothering to lower his voice in the slightest, “ _Some_ people are so engrossed in their sinful ways that they aren’t worth saving anymore.” 

And Castiel hadn’t done a damn thing. Bartholomew had smirked over his shoulder on his way out of the room and Castiel had let him slither away while Charlie turned as red as her hair, seething with anger and humiliation.

“It’s complicated, Dean,” Castiel repeated, exhaustion creeping into his voice alongside the frustration. “Charlie is my best friend. Believe me, I wish I could have done something.”

“Right, right, ‘it’s complicated’,” Dean mocked, anger on Charlie’s behalf seeping into his voice, “So complicated that you’d rather let your ‘best friend’ suffer instead of figuring out your crap.” 

Castiel’s echoing footsteps were the only response. He had one hand on the door and Dean reached a boiling point, disgusted and incredulous that Castiel could be so fucking cavalier about the whole thing. Dean had only known Charlie for a few months and he was ready to find Bartholomew and knock a few of his teeth out. Why the hell wasn’t Castiel similarly _furious_?

“Maybe Charlie deserves better friends.”

A low blow perhaps, but Dean was unapologetic. Castiel spun away from the door and stomped over to him, _finally_ looking as angry as he should have been from the start. He let his bag fall to the floor and got right up in Dean’s face.

“Excuse me? What would you know?” The freezing tone of his voice belied the fire in his eyes. “There are plenty of things you don’t understand about this, Dean. Back off.” 

“Make me,” Dean sneered childishly, standing up to his full height and refusing to be intimidated. Castiel’s lip curled into an ugly snarl. 

“You should spend more time learning your lines and less time sticking your nose into other peoples’ business.” 

The last word was accompanied by a hard shove to his shoulder and he boiled over. Dean pushed Castiel’s arm away and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, hauling him close and growling as his other hand curled into a fist.

If he couldn’t clock Bartholomew for being an asshole, he’d settle for bruising Castiel’s jaw (and ego) for being an obnoxious dick. 

_Soft_.

Dean sucked in a breath and pulled his thumb away from where it had been tracing against his bottom lip. It hadn’t lasted more than a second but he could feel the ghost of it pressing against his mouth, soft but insistent he not forget it, and without meaning to he kept tracing the feeling with his thumb. 

The feeling of pliant lips, still downturned in disagreement but undeniably full and warm, against his mouth.

Jesus Christ, he’d _kissed_ _Castiel Novak._

Or had Castiel Novak kissed _him_?

God, stories made it seem easy. In stories, the main character got to have some sort of enhanced flashback, the kind where time was slowed down to a crawl and even the tiniest details could be remembered with an inhuman level of clarity. Main characters were allowed to remember feeling the other person’s closeness, a soft puff of air on their cheek, the way the lighting drew out eye colors, that crazy moment right before lips met for the first time. 

But Dean wasn’t a main character in a story and the details were slipping away from him like it had been a dream, like there were no details to be remembered in the first place.

A sudden shiver shot downwards from the tip of his spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake; Sam must’ve turned down the heat when he left to save on their utility bill. Dean reached to tug his jacket tighter around himself, frowning in confusion when he found only the thin material of his henley.

_Shit_ , in his haste he must have left his winter jacket at the pool. Perfect.

The apartment door opened and Dean’s eyes were suddenly trying to adjust to far too much light. He held up a hand against the brightness of the hallway as Sam’s silhouette came into view.

“Dude, what are you doing on the floor?”

Sam shut the door behind him and flicked on the main lights. Dean heaved himself off the floor, still squinting.

“Just, uh. Just got back.”

“From rehearsal?” Sam set about getting comfortable, putting his grocery bag and backpack down and shucking off his jacket.

Dean gulped. It wasn’t a secret that he’d been out running lines; he’d mentioned as much to Sam on his way out the door. Why did confirming that he was practicing for the play that Sam knew he was in feel like he was admitting some secret?

“Uh, yeah.” 

“Cool. How’s Lisa? She nervous?” Sam asked over his shoulder as he bent down to peel off his thick winter boots. 

Maybe it felt like a secret because Sam assumed he had been rehearsing with Lisa and Dean hadn’t corrected him. Not that it mattered; what did Sam care who he ran lines with?

“She’s fine,” he lied, “A little nervous, but who wouldn’t be, you know? She’ll be great.” He knew his smile must look strained, but luckily Sam didn’t seem to notice.

“Aw, I’m sure she’ll be just fine. I can’t wait to see it.” Sam straightened up and gave Dean an encouraging look. “Well, it’s late,” he continued after a moment—in fact, it was nearly ten— “But do you want some dinner? I brought home stuff for carbonara.” He picked up the grocery bag and started towards the kitchen.  

Dean relaxed; discussion about his whereabouts that evening appeared to be over. 

“Yeah, sounds good. Get some water boiling,” he instructed, following Sam to the kitchen and pulling spaghetti out of one of the cabinets.

“And so the entire time we’re talking to this client, Crowley keeps _leering_ at him, like he’s got blackmail on the guy or something,” Sam paused briefly to shovel another forkful of pasta into his mouth. “I mean, this is the client we’re defending! We’re supposed to be on his side!” Another forkful was waved carelessly about as Sam worked himself up. 

“Crowley sounds like a massive, egotistical dick.” Dean glared down at his own pasta as he twirled another bite.

“He is,” Sam said, letting out an exasperated sigh, “He’s absolutely _not_ the type of lawyer I want to be.” This staunch pronouncement was accompanied by an aggressive stab at a helpless piece of ham.

Unfortunately, Sam was stuck shadowing Crowley this semester and the next, and Dean pitied him. From what Sam had told him, Crowley was a snake oil salesman in a lawyer’s suit who treated cases like they were business deals.

Dean’s eyes flicked to the clock over the stove. It was past eleven now. 

“Listen,” Dean said, stretching as he rose from his chair and picked up his plate, “If there’s any hope of you dragging my sorry ass out of bed for a run tomorrow morning, I need to get some sleep.” 

Sam chuckled with a mouthful of pasta. “Sure thing, old man,” he said once he’d swallowed, “I’m gonna knock out pretty soon too. Night!” 

“G’night!” Dean answered over his shoulder.

He didn’t bother turning on the lights in his room. His shirt, pants, and socks joined the other stray garments on his floor and then he was nestling himself into his thick comforter, eager for sleep.

Sleep did not seem eager to meet him halfway. 

Apparently, the very typical dinner with Sam had been a temporary reprieve from his racing thoughts and excruciating embarrassment regarding Castiel. As soon as his treacherous mind was allowed to wander, it began replaying the scene in an endless loop.

He arrived at the pool. Castiel arrived at the pool. They tried to practice lines. They fought. They kissed. Dean ran. He arrived at the pool, Castiel arrived at the pool, and so on.

But Jesus, they _kissed_. The whole ‘passionate situation escalates to a place neither person expected’ thing was just movie bullshit, right? Real life wasn’t like that, so why had it happened? The logical progression of events would have been for someone to throw a punch; he’d even made a fist to do exactly that. 

What was he supposed to do the next time he saw Cas? He couldn’t be avoided; rehearsal was twice a week and Castiel would be present at all of them, fussing with the lighting, fixing people’s microphones, running costume checks for Balthazar if he needed it. Dean was one of the leads; melting into the background and hoping for the best wasn’t exactly an option. He would be front and center just like he’d been since the very first read-through.

Was he supposed to talk to Castiel about what happened? If he pretended nothing had happened in the first place would that be more or less awkward? What if Castiel wanted to pretend and Dean made it worse by trying to talk about it, or vice versa?

Lisa had such high hopes for him and would be heartbroken if he let this tank his performance, and he would never forgive himself if he brought _her_ performance down because he couldn’t get his shit together.

With a groan, Dean yanked the covers over his head, hoping to hide his embarrassment from the world. It was probably going to be messy, but he’d need to find a way to pull himself together somehow. After all, in the grand scheme of things, what was one stupid little kiss? There were less than two months until the end of the semester. He’d find a way to hold it together until then and if he needed to freak out a little once finals were over, well, so be it. 

He’d manage. Even if he and Castiel never spoke to each other again, the show would go on and people would go their separate ways and Dean would just tuck the whole memory into the back of his mind where it would remain a secret forever.

Dean grunted and turned onto his other side. _Jean-Paul Sartre may have been onto something,_ he mused sullenly, subconsciously running his thumb against his bottom lip again.

_L’enfer c’est les autres._ Hell is other people.


	15. Tuesday, November 6

Dean was being a baby and he knew it.

He hadn’t had the guts to go to Thursday’s rehearsal, not with the previous night’s mishap so fresh in his mind. Instead, he had emailed Donna to say he was bedridden with a head cold, and Lisa had been told to the same fib when she texted asking where he was. It wasn’t _all_ a lie; he had indeed in bed, just not with a cold. 

Around the time rehearsal usually let out, he got a message from Charlie asking for his address so she could deliver the jacket he’d left at the pool. Apparently, Castiel had insisted he was far too busy to return it himself. Dean must have looked sufficiently sickly and miserable when he opened the door, because instead of sticking around to chat Charlie gave him his jacket, a sympathetic pat on the arm, and encouragement for a speedy recovery before leaving again.  

Castiel had not contacted him. 

Come Friday, he was at least able to focus long enough to attend his classes, but he hurried straight home as soon as his last one for the day let out, chased by the ridiculous fear that Castiel would be waiting for him around every corner, demanding that he face what happened.

And he didn’t _want_ to. It was all fine and dandy to advocate for LGBT rights, but being blindsided by the realization that he might be more than just an ally changed the playing field considerably. That wasn’t to say he suddenly had a problem with it or anything, but…well, he had to come to terms with a few things before he started being ‘out and proud’ and putting himself directly in line with all the shit the LGBT community faced on a daily basis.

For one thing, what the hell would Sam think? Dean had always been the macho big brother, a flirt, a ladies man.Was he suddenly supposed to corner Sam in the living room and say ‘Hey, just kidding, I like taking it up the ass and pussy is gross!’? Hard pass.

For that matter, were all his exploits with women suddenly invalid? He was hardly inexperienced; did all those times he’d hooked up suddenly ‘not count’ now that he’d kissed a dude? Or was Castiel the one that didn’t count, an exception to the rule, one of those weird experimentation phases that everyone talked about having during college?

On Saturday, he’d run some basic tests (because, really, what was his expensive engineering education for, if not this?) from the safety of his room. Laptop open next to him and door firmly shut, he’d gone to his favorite porn site and clicked through his favorites. His dick had, almost to his relief, signified his immediate interest. Okay, good. 

He couldn’t even _think_ about searching for gay porn without turning an unhealthy shade of red, so instead, he closed his eyes and tried to think about Castiel. Did he want to see him naked? He didn’t know; he really had absolutely no experience to base the answer off of, had no idea how to undress a guy in his mind.

He thought about Cas’ rough voice, his face, his intense stare, the fact that Castiel was strong enough to match him in a fight even though he was a few inches shorter. He thought about the Halloween party, when they’d been on the balcony and his eyes had been lit up and magnified by his star halo, remembered the way it had felt like he could eat Dean alive and Dean would thank him for it.

His dick twitched _hard_ against his stomach. Okay, so he probably wouldn’t be mortally offended to see Castiel naked.

Preliminary tests showed inconclusive results.

All of his fretting was based on the premise that _he_ had been the one to kiss _Cas_. But what if that wasn’t the case? What if, in actuality, _Castiel_ had kissed _him_ and he was remembering the entire thing wrong? Did that change anything? If so, how? If Castiel had made the first move, maybe Dean had been freaking out for nothing and it could indeed be written off as an unplanned abnormality. But then again, even if Castiel _had_ moved first, the fact remained: they had ended up kissing each other. Maybe it didn’t even matter who started what if the outcome was the same.

Come Monday he’d been ready to tear his own hair out just to give himself something else to think about. Classes had been a welcome break from his own turbulent thoughts.

But now it was Tuesday, classes were over, and he was heading towards the theatre. He’d seriously considered skipping this meeting too, but in the end, his guilt had won out; he couldn’t risk making Lisa or Anna look bad by falling behind on learning his part.

It was with a sense of impending doom settling low in his gut like an anchor that he peeled open the auditorium door. To his immense relief, Castiel was nowhere in sight. He took a seat beside Lisa and willed his heart to settle to a safe tempo.

“Welcome back! Feeling better?” Lisa inquired from his left, squinting and leaning forward to get a better look at his face. “You look kind of pale,” she commented, and Dean was strangely grateful for the concerned tone of her voice, however misplaced it was. 

“I’m getting there,” he mumbled, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths to steady himself. When he reopened them, he saw that Lisa looked wholly unconvinced.

“I’m sure Donna wouldn’t be upset if you missed another rehearsal,” she said.

“I’m _fine_ ,” he insisted, trying to give her his usual grin and falling short. Thankfully, she didn’t press the matter further.

By some miracle of God, the meeting passed by uneventfully and Dean was eager to make a hasty retreat as soon as Donna released them. When he heard the familiar “And, scene!” he packed his things up at light speed, tossing a quick goodbye to Lisa over his shoulder. He could apologize for his shortness later.

Two steps away from the door, his luck ran out.

A large hand landed on his shoulder, tentative but insistent, and Dean just _knew_ exactly who it was. For how absurdly anxious he felt, Castiel may as well have been Death himself.

“Dean,” he said firmly, that goddamn rumbling voice rolling over each letter as though tasting it, and Dean wasn’t sure if he wanted to punch him or kiss him again. “Let’s…we should talk.” 

He started moving without turning back to see if Castiel was following him, letting his feet carry him to the men’s room, which was blessedly empty. He heard the door start to close, then open, then groan its way to fully closed and he took a deep breath, finally turning to meet his maker.

Castiel looked like he hadn’t slept much in the last few days; his hair was rumpled and haphazard and there were circles under his downturned eyes.

“Listen—“

“I—“

They started at the same time and stopped short. Dean swallowed and tried again. 

“Listen…I don’t really know what’s going on,” he said, accidentally candid in the wake of his nerves, “It feels like I’m losing my mind, I mean—“ A desperate laugh pushed its way out of his throat. “I don’t—what happened at the pool was—I don’t know what to make of this.”

“I—me neither.” The answer was barely above a whisper; if it hadn’t been for the echo-y atmosphere, Dean might not have even heard it.

“I think…maybe we should—maybe…” Dean searched frantically for the right words. “We could just…pretend it never happened?” He meant it to be a statement rather than a question, but it seemed there was little he could do to control the cadence of his voice for the moment.

Castiel finally met his gaze. His eyes held fear to rival Dean’s, but otherwise, the intensity of his stare was unchanged. “Yes,” he agreed firmly. 

Dean exhaled. There; now he could stop worrying about it and put the whole thing behind him. It didn’t have to mean anything. Done. 

“Or—“ Castiel blurted, “we could—“ He stopped to clear his throat. “—see…what happens,” he finished finally.

Dean stared at him.

“What?” 

Castiel made a vague hand gesture, looking desperately hopeful that Dean would magically understand what the hell he was talking about.

“We…” Castiel swallowed. His brow furrowed, smoothed out, re-furrowed. A hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Maybe we could figure out what happened if—if we spent some time together.”

“You mean…alone?”

Castiel inclined his head in the barest of nods. Dean stared some more.

“Only if you want to,” Castiel amended hastily. His cheeks were flushed bright pink and it looked like a war was waging inside his head. Dean licked his lips.

Was this a good idea? He could walk away right now and forget the whole thing, go back to enjoying himself the way he knew how. No one ever had to know that he’d kissed a guy; he could write it off as an abnormality, finalize the report, close the book.

But.

_But_.

What if this was something worth exploring?

“Yeah,” he heard himself say, “I…that would be okay.”

He tore his eyes away from the floor tiles and found something completely unreadable in Cas’ eyes. 

“Okay,” Castiel breathed, “Okay.”

The bathroom door crashed open behind him, making them both jump. Two new occupants entered amidst jokes and laughter, griping about some class and seemingly oblivious to the fact that they’d stumbled upon a tense moment. Castiel cleared his throat and stood up straight, the uncertainty in his eyes replaced with determination. 

“I do research in the observatory on Saturday nights,” he said, his voice too casual. Without another word, he turned on his heel and disappeared out the door. Dean took five breaths before following him out and by that time Castiel was nowhere to be seen.

The second half of his invitation had gone unspoken, but Dean had heard it loud and clear: _Feel free to meet me there, if you want._

Dean still wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted; he’d have to think about it. Then again, he’d spent the past five days obsessing over _what if_ s and trying to make sense out of the whole situation and it’d gotten him nowhere. Maybe it was time to stop thinking so much and just throw caution to the wind for a split second. Maybe if they spent some time together answers would make themselves known. 

Maybe he really _did_ have a bad head cold and this whole thing was a bizarre, fever-induced hallucination. 

Suddenly, he was bone tired. The trip home passed by in a blur and at long last, he was toeing off his shoes and flopping down face-first onto his mattress.

He had until Saturday to decide if he wanted to stop by the observatory. For now, all he wanted to do was sleep.


	16. Saturday, November 10

Dean was being a baby, _again_ , and he knew it. 

Four days was _plenty_ of time to make a decision as inconsequential as whether or not to visit the observatory. He could either go, or he could not go. Simple. Technically, Castiel had neververbally invited him to show up on this or any other particular Saturday; all he’d said out loud was that on Saturday nights he could be found watching the stars. If Dean chose to stay home, he wouldn’t be bailing on any promises.

Go, or don’t go.

Sure, maybe Castiel would be a little disappointed if Dean never showed up, but he seemed like a practical guy; not the type to hold a grudge over the not-rejection of a not-invitation. They could forget this whole thing happened, just write it off as a fluke caused by stress or the planet alignment or breathing too much chlorine at the pool. It would be fine.

Go, or don’t go. 

If Dean did show up, well, they would be in uncharted territory. But was that really so bad? They werefriends and it seemed silly to worry about hanging out with a friend. No expectations had been set, no boundaries truly challenged; Castiel had posited that spending time together might help them figure out how they got into this situation in the first place, which could mean anything. Maybe hanging out would reveal that they were simply meant to be good friends who got some wires crossed in the beginning.

Go, or don’t go.

_Go._  

At half past ten, Dean finally snatched up his jacket and tugged the apartment door shut behind him before he could get into another argument with himself. A face full of bitterly cold wind was nearly enough to make him turn right around, but he’d already come this far and goddammit he’d stick with his choice. He pulled his coat tighter around himself against the chill.

Other than the occasional howl of wind through the trees, the short walk to the observatory was eerily silent. The building sat at the edge of the engineering campus, its great looming ceiling curving into a perfect orb. Dean heaved the lobby door open and tucked inside, grateful to be out of the cold. The lobby, like the rest of the engineering campus, was vacant; Dean realized far too late that he hadn’t bothered asking _where_ in the observatory Castiel liked to set up shop.

His footsteps echoed too loudly on the linoleum as he made his way towards the building map, shedding his coat as he went, but he was saved the trouble. As he passed by the hallway leading to the planetarium, he was able to make out indistinct sounds of narration. If whoever was inside wasn’t Castiel, maybe they would at least know where to find him.

The narration ended as he pulled the door open; inside the theatre was hushed and dark, save for the projection of some version of the night sky that was currently splashed around the screen. The planetarium was dome-shaped just like the observatory, but it was considerably smaller. From the outside, the observatory completely eclipsed the little theatre from most publicly accessible angles.

In the middle of the room, a figure stood hunched over the projector, furiously scribbling notes. Dean squinted and stepped closer but couldn’t make out much more than a vague profile. The figure must have fiddled with some of the dials on the control panel because suddenly the projection was changing. The new screen had much brighter colors and Dean could finally make out the familiar form of Castiel.

His intestines were doing truly incredible acrobatics.

“Hey!” he half-whispered, feeling weird about breaking the silence. Castiel looked up from his notes, peering around the dark room before landing on him. His eyes widened slightly, but he gave no other indication as to whether or not he was pleased Dean had come.

“Hello, Dean,” he said, shuffling his notes to the side. 

The tension in the air was thick. Dean gulped. On the way here, he’d imagined a possible conversation: they’d greet each other, there might be an awkward pause, and then they’d fall into easy, familiar, friendly chatter. Dean hadn’t counted on the awkward pause dragging on for so long.

God, why couldn’t he _say_ anything?

It was Castiel who moved first. He cleared his throat, twitching his fingers over the controls and pulling up another image onto the projector. This one had much more reds than blues, and the room was suddenly cast in a warm glow.

“It’s…good to see you,” Castiel started, hesitant, “how have you been?” His speech was awkward, stilted. Of course, one of the endearing things about Cas was that he was always a little awkward, a little too stiff and formal, but this went beyond that.

“I’ve…I’m fine.”

Dean was no better off. 

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Castiel admitted, more to his shoes than to Dean.

“I uh…” he said intelligently, “I…wasn’t really sure either.” 

More silence.

“What are you working on?” It seemed like cheating somehow, to be asking about work when there were more pressing things they could discuss, when there was a planet-sized elephant in the room steadily growing larger.

But it dispelled some of the awkwardness Castiel was clearly feeling; a small smile lifted the corner of his mouth and he gestured for Dean to come to stand by him. Dean did. He caught the smell of sandalwood.

“It’s part of my thesis,” Castiel answered, rifling through the notes in front of him. “How much do you know about gravitational waves?”

“Not much,” Dean admitted, “unless that’s just a different name for the gravitational forces taught in your average Physics class.”

“Not exactly. Einstein predicted the existence of gravitational waves—ripples in spacetime—in his theory of relativity, ” Castiel explained, “but the gravitational waves produced by any object on Earth are undetectably small, so we had no proof of their existence until much more recently. In the 1970s, astronomers observed a pair of dense stars that they used to mathematically prove the existence of gravitational waves, but it wasn’t until a few years ago that anyone was able to physically detect gravitational waves passing through Earth.” 

Castiel clicked a few buttons and the projection changed to show a graph, distorted somewhat by the curved screen. 

“A little over a billion years ago, two absolutely _massive_ black holes collided with each other,” he went on, “The recently-detected gravitational waves originated from that collision.” He gestured toward the graph on-screen. 

“Whoa,” Dean breathed, impressed.  

“Would you like to hear it?” Castiel sounded hopeful. 

“Huh?” 

“The black holes colliding. The recorded signal was converted into an audible sound.”

Dean’s eyebrows reached for his hairline. “Hell yeah,” he said, excited, “Let’s hear what black holes have to say.” 

Castiel hit play. For a beat, there was only faint static and Dean strained to hear, but then a soft sound started low and grew louder and higher pitched towards the end. Above their heads, the graph lit up in time with the audio, starting slow and then accelerating with the crescendo. The whole thing lasted no more than a second. 

“Hah!” Dean laughed, delighted. “It sounds like the universe is saying ‘ _whoop!’_ It’s almost…cute? Can I call the universe cute?”

“I have no idea how the universe would feel about being called cute, but I’m inclined to agree,” Castiel said, looking quite pleased by Dean’s reaction. “In this version, the frequency has actually been shifted to make it more audible; the original version sounds sort of like a heartbeat.” 

“That’s awesome.”

Castiel returned the projector to its default setting: a display of the modern night sky, free of light pollution and full of stars. Dean watched Castiel’s eyes travel across the dome, their color magnified and reflecting the shades of blue splashed across the screen. They held wonder too, a kind of intense passion and hunger for more, as though Castiel knew he would never acquire as much knowledge as he wanted about the endless reaches of outer space. He exhaled slowly through parted lips and Dean gulped, abruptly remembering what had brought him here in the first place. He felt himself flush as he turned to look back up at the projected stars.

“It’s easy to forget it looks like this,” Castiel said quietly, “there’s too much light pollution in most places.” He sounded wistful.

“When I was younger,” Dean said, “we spent a lot of time on the road. In the more rural areas, my brother Sammy and I would lie for hours on the hood of the car to get a proper look at the stars. Not as clear as this,” he gestured at the display, “but, ya know. Much better than you’d see in the city. We’d have a contest to see how many constellations we could find.” His eyes roamed, searching for the big dipper. It was much harder to spot amidst so many other pinpricks of light.

He gave up after a moment, returning his gaze to Castiel. He was surprised to find Castiel looking back at him, eyes bright even in the darkened theatre, an unreadable expression on his face. This close, it looked like his eyes were full of stars too. 

“Cas…?”

It was barely more than a whisper. Castiel gave no verbal reply, but brought a hand up slowly, carefully, to curl around Dean’s forearm, his grip loose as though he expected Dean to pull away. Dean stood still, certain that if he so much as breathed too loudly Castiel would snap out of it and put distance between them. He wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted to happen, but it wasn’t that.

Castiel’s eyes darted down to Dean’s mouth. Dean felt his heart hammer in his chest and waited, watching Cas’ brow furrow slightly as though he were having some internal argument. His fingers twitched against Dean’s skin.

“Dean,” His voice was low and heavy. Dean shivered. “I…um…” He seemed to abandon the thought halfway through, or maybe the thought had never fully formed in the first place. His eyes rose back to meet Dean’s and then he was leaning forward.

Eyes fluttered shut of their own volition when Castiel pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to the corner of Dean’s mouth. It felt soft and warm, but Castiel was pulling away before Dean could process more than that.

He didn’t get very far. Dean followed unthinkingly, pressing a kiss of his own more fully against Castiel’s lips, and Castiel kissed him back, movements careful and exploratory, although whether he was making his own discoveries or giving Dean a chance to make some for himself was unclear. 

“Dean,” Castiel said again when they broke away, sounding firmer this time, surer.

Dean nodded, responding to an unspoken question, and then they were reaching for each other. The hand on Dean’s arm slid up to his shoulder and another came to the back of his neck and _pulled_ , dragging Dean down to meet Castiel’s eager kisses and sending a thrill through him. His own hands found Castiel’s waist, his t-shirt shifting over warm skin when Dean ran his palms around to Castiel’s back. 

Castiel kissed him hungrily, greedily, parting his lips and tilting his head so their mouths slid more properly together. Dean flicked the tip of his tongue against Castiel’s lower lip, feeling pretty greedy himself; each kiss was a millisecond too short when all he wanted was more of that warm, pliant, definitely-not-chapped mouth against his own.

He gripped at Castiel’s back, pulling them flush against each other from hip to chest, marveling at the new sensation; he’d only ever been pressed this close against women, sexually speaking anyway. Castiel’s hand had disappeared into Dean’s hair and each drag of his nails sent shivers racing down Dean’s spine. He slipped his tongue against Castiel’s open lips again and Castiel must have had the same idea because suddenly their tongues were sliding wetly together and Dean never wanted to stop. He swallowed the low, breathy moan that escaped Castiel, glad he wasn’t alone in his enjoyment. 

Castiel broke away for real, panting against Dean’s jaw for a moment before pushing against his shoulder insistently until Dean took a step back. Castiel followed him and pushed him again until he took another, but he misstepped and let out an undignified yelp as he fell back against the floor, catching himself with his hands at the last minute to spare his tailbone. He blinked up at Castiel from his seated position.  

“Sorry,” Castiel breathed against his ear when he knelt over Dean, knees on either side of Dean’s hips and hands on Dean’s shoulders for balance, “I meant to have you lean against the projector control panel…” 

There was really no reason for those words to affect him in any way, but Dean felt hot all over nonetheless. Castiel dragged his cheek against Dean’s as he moved away from his ear, following the rough drag of stubble with open-mouthed kisses against his skin. Finally, he was slipping his mouth along Dean’s again and Dean relished the plush feeling until Castiel slid away to continue whispering in Dean’s opposite ear. 

“…but this is fine too.”

Dean closed his eyes and dropped his head back with a soft groan, tilting to the side and exposing more of his neck when Castiel licked at the sensitive skin under his ear. He belatedly realized how unusual a reaction it was; all of his previous lovers had had unique bedroom skills, but one constant had been his ambivalence towards anything involving his neck—either their ministrations tickled faintly, or it just didn’t do anything for him. But now, with a sky full of stars above him and Castiel scraping teeth over his pulse point, he found his hips twitching upwards, seeking friction.

He shifted his weight onto one hand and used the other to pull Castiel down against him. Castiel released his shoulders to sit back on Dean’s lap properly, grinding down just as Dean pressed up, startled groans leaving both of them as their groins came firmly into contact.

They panted against each other, unmoving. Dean brought his face close to Castiel’s collarbone and breathed in lungfuls of sandalwood-scented air, his skin itching with arousal on every inhale. Castiel gulped.

“I…Dean, should we…” 

Dean couldn’t tell if he was suggesting they stop or suggesting they keep going. He took stock of himself, weighing the anxious churn of what this meant for his sexuality against the undeniable, nearly desperate arousal thrumming through him. He found he couldn’t even bring himself to release the hand clutching at the t-shirt covering Castiel’s back.

Anxiety be damned, the thought of pulling away now made him _ache_. 

He forced himself to look into Castiel’s face and was glad he did; against the starry backdrop Cas was stunning, his mouth swollen from hungry kisses and cheeks flushed pink, eyes wide and pleading in the low light and looking like it was taking everything he had not to lean back down and continue where they had left off. Dean nosed at Castiel’s jaw, breathing shakily.

“I want this,” he admitted into tan skin. 

A hand came up to cup his jaw and force his gaze upwards again and then they were kissing fiercely as Castiel pressed his hips down against Dean’s in a slow, satisfying grind. Dean huffed an appreciative noise and brought his other hand up from the floor to slide along Castiel’s thigh and over the swell of his ass, using the grip to press Castiel down tighter against him, torn between the relief of friction and the painful confinements of his jeans. 

Castiel must have read his mind because he slid his hands out of Dean’s hair, over his neck, and down his torso, twitching Dean’s shirt up just enough to reach the button of his jeans. Dean’s stomach jumped in gleeful anticipation and the only response he was capable of when Castiel hesitated, waiting for permission, was an impatient twitch of his hips. He felt the button come undone and the zipper being drawn down and then Castiel was closing a hot fist around his dick and moving his boxers out of the way.  

He twitched against Castiel’s palm, but the hand didn’t move. Dean blinked his eyes open, feeling suddenly self-conscious, but when he looked up he saw he had no reason to be; Blue eyes were glued to where he held Dean and Castiel tugged his lip between his own teeth, looking like he couldn’t decide what he wanted to do more. 

Finally, _finally_ , Castiel dragged his hand from base to crown, swirling his thumb across the slit to catch the precum gathered there. A choked noise escaped Dean’s throat and Castiel brought his eyes up to his face, stilling his hand again, groaning shakily at the sight of Dean. Suddenly his hand was gone and he was pawing clumsily at the button of his own jeans, growling as he pulled the zipper down and shoved his pants and underwear just far enough out of the way to free his own cock. 

There was no time for Dean to get anxious about having another guy’s erection in front of him before Castiel was spitting into his palm and bringing a wet hand to wrap around both of them as best he could, dragging upwards. Matching moans spilled from both of them and echoed around theplanetarium as Castiel stroked them both quickly, clearly just as far beyond patience as Dean felt. 

His eyes kept trying to roll back into his head but Dean fought it, intent on watching Castiel’s hips twitch, seeing their dicks slide through Castiel’s fist, watching the soft head of Castiel’s cock rub against his. Castiel was panting and whimpering in Dean’s ear and Dean’s hands roamed greedily over Cas’ torso.

“I— _hah_ —Dean, I’m— _ah—_ close,” Castiel managed in between breaths, his rumbling voice sending heat spiraling down Dean’s spine and pooling low in his gut.

“Me too,” he panted desperately against Cas’ collarbone, “me too.” His wandering hands found the edge of Castiel’s t-shirt and slid underneath to press against a firm torso, petting over his lower back and stomach.

Castiel’s hand found his shoulder and gripped him tight, aborted whimpers falling from his mouth as his dick pulsed and twitched against Dean’s, the thrusts of his hips turning erratic as he spilled himself over their cocks and his own fist. 

Dean wasn’t prepared for how turned on he was at the sight of Castiel coming apart against him; he fucked up into Cas’ cum-slicked hand with renewed vigor, chasing the edge he knew was near. Castiel let go of his shoulder and tipped his face up for a filthy kiss and Dean was gone, his moans muffled against Castiel’s mouth as he chased every last tendril of bliss. 

Sated, they breathed against each other for a moment, enjoying the post-orgasmic haze.

“That was…wow,” Dean said finally. Castiel laughed breathily against his neck and moved to stand up, wiping his hand on his t-shirt. Dean watched as he tucked himself back into his boxers and tugged his pants back up before offering a hand out to Dean. He let himself be hoisted back to standing and went about fixing his own clothes.

“I’m glad you came tonight,” Castiel said, and they both sniggered at his choice of words.

“Me too,” Dean replied, meaning it. Castiel smiled at him.  

They gathered their things and Dean waited patiently while Castiel shut down the projector and turned off lights. A contented silence followed them out into the lobby and beyond into the frigid night air. 

“So…” Dean began after about half a block, “what does this mean? For us?”

Castiel was silent for a moment, his shoulders pulled up against his ears to keep the cold at bay. “I don’t know,” he said eventually, casting a sideways glance at Dean, “Do you want it to mean something in particular?”

“I…guess I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. Beside him, Castiel shrugged.

“Then we’ll make it up as we go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An actual conversation with my (very patient and encouraging) significant other:
> 
> SO: Did you write the porn yet?  
> Me: I did not.  
> SO: Eventually you will need to turn that outline into actual words.  
> Me: Shhhhhhhhh.  
> -weeks later-  
> SO: Did you write the porn yet?  
> Me: Yes...  
> SO: Good!  
> Me: I prefaced it with a whole bunch of space science. =D  
> SO, existentially tired: Oh my god.
> 
> On that note, all the information about gravitational waves came from [this site](https://www.ligo.caltech.edu/page/gw-sources). Scroll down the page and you'll find the video Castiel plays for Dean!


	17. Wednesday, November 14

There was something about the blueish lighting and soft sounds of splashing pool water that usually managed to coax productivity out of him for at least a little while. Unfortunately, sometimes there was just no more progress to be had, and tonight Dean wasn’t the only one feeling burned out.

“Urgh,” Charlie groaned, rolling her head a few times until her neck popped, “Guys, I’m crashing harder than usual today. I’m gonna make a quick McDonald’s run.” She stood and rifled through her bag for her wallet and keys. “You guys want anything?”

Castiel shook his head, but Dean’s mouth was already watering at the prospect of a little junk food.

“Medium fries please; I’ll pay you back?”

Charlie grunted an agreement and made her way to the door. Castiel had turned back to his book.

“Shall we keep going?” he said, “I can read both Inez and Estelle until Charlie gets back.”

“Nah,” Dean said, mimicking Charlie’s earlier neck rolls and sighing when he felt several good pops. “Let’s take a break.” Castiel set his book down. 

“What should we do instead?”

Dean looked at the pool. Despite the cold outside, it was fairly warm and a humid inside the gym. 

“I kinda want to go for a swim.” Without waiting for a reply he reached down to pull off his shoes and socks, then tugged his shirt over his head. When he resurfaced, Castiel was staring openly at him. Dean put on his cheekiest grin. “Like what you see?”

His eyes snapped up to Dean’s and he nodded solemnly. Dean gulped, his bravado faltering in the face of Castiel’s honesty. He dropped his t-shirt on the bench and made his way down the stairs. 

“You comin’?” he called over his shoulder, already standing by the edge of the pool and undoing the button of his jeans. 

“You’re serious?” 

“Yeah, why not?” Dean tossed his jeans onto the nearest bench before turning and gesturing for Castiel to join him. 

“I don’t have a bathing suit.” 

“Does it look like _I_ have a bathing suit?” he laughed, holding his hands out and looking down at himself pointedly. “Our boxers will dry.” Castiel watched him for a long moment before moving to take his shoes off. Dean gave a small cheer before jumping in, tucking himself into a canon ball as he hit the water. 

He hadn’t thought to check before jumping, so he was immensely grateful to find that the pool was heated. The muted sound of underwater was calming and he kept still, relishing the feeling of weightlessness. When he broke the surface and wiped the water from his eyes, he found Castiel standing by the edge clad only in white boxers, arms crossed. Dean propelled himself to the wall next to where he stood, propping himself halfway out of the pool. 

“Come in! It feels great,” he insisted, fluttering his eyelashes in lieu of verbal begging. 

This was the first opportunity he’d gotten to admire Castiel’s physicality; he’d sort of known what to expect after the observatory, but it’d been dark then and they hadn’t really gotten clothes off. He struck quite an imposing picture from this angle; arms crossed, his expression almost serious, made of lean muscle and standing up straight, looking down at Dean as though he were ready to give him orders. He looked like a high-ranking military official.

Dean’s eyes made their way down and then back up, slowly, appreciatively. When he reached Castiel’s mouth again the corners were turned up ever so slightly.

“Like what you see?” he parroted. Dean grinned and flicked water at his legs.  

“I do,” he conceded, “but if you don’t get in the water, I’m gonna pull you in.” 

Castiel chuckled, lowering himself to sit on the edge and slipping into the water. He kicked off from the wall in a graceful glide, diving under the water briefly before coming up halfway across the pool, his hair plastered to his head. One shake later the excess water was gone and his hair stuck out in its familiar haphazard way. 

Dean kicked off the wall (less gracefully, but whatever, the point was that he moved forward) to meet him. The water was deeper here, coming halfway up their torsos.

“See? Nice, right?”

“We’re going to freeze when we go outside.”

“We’ll be fine,” Dean said dismissively, “worst case scenario, we go commando for the trip home.”

There was silence, save for the water lapping at the pool walls. The hungry look that had been in Castiel’s eyes since Dean removed his shirt hadn’t diminished much, and Dean could feel arousal stirring in his blood. When he’d spent time processing their accidental first kiss he’d wondered how he might feel about seeing Cas naked. Now, he belatedly realized, only one piece of fabric prevented him from experiencing it.

Dean brought his hand out of the water to grip gently at Castiel’s upper arm. He felt strong and warm, just like when he’d pressed Dean into the planetarium floor and made stars of a different kind appear behind his eyelids. Dean watched as he smoothed his hand upward over soft, wet skin, feeling the muscles in Cas' shoulder tense and relax, before coming to rest at the base of his neck. His pulse beat a fast rhythm against Dean’s thumb. 

Despite the refreshing water, he felt hot all over. If this were a more familiar situation, if he had been with Lisa or some other girl, he would give a coy smile, turn the charm up to ten, and make the first move. The planetarium incident had dissolved some of his more prominent anxieties around Castiel, but self-conscious doubt lingered, leaving him stuck midway between flirtatiousness and wondering if Castiel would think him greedy for wanting.

And _oh_ , Dean wanted. He wanted to feel Castiel’s skin against his, wanted to kiss they way they’d kissed in the observatory, hot and hungry, wanted to run his hands all over until he’d had his fill, wanted to see Cas naked. He just didn’t know how to _ask._

His fingers curled against Castiel’s skin, blunt nails scraping gently, and Dean discovered he needn’t have worried. Castiel surged forward to claim his lips, one hand coming up to pull Dean closer by the back of his neck like he’d done the previous time. Whether he had read Dean’s mind or given in to a desperate need of his own was unclear and it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Castiel’s soft mouth was catching his over and over again, relentless.

Castiel licked across Dean’s lower lip and Dean was suddenly immensely grateful for the water holding most of his weight, because Cas’ tongue was flicking against the tip of his own in a way he was sure would have his knees buckling. He felt the muscles under his hand tense and then his hand was thrown off as Castiel reached to cup his face with both hands, tilting his head for a better angle and licking into Dean’s mouth.

Dean felt overwhelmed in the best of ways, pressing back against the body in front of him with equal fervor and only pulling back for a second when it was absolutely necessary. Under the water, his hands roamed across Castiel’s torso, pet at his abs, grabbed at his hips, dug nails into his lower back. This kind of desperate arousal was a new feeling and he reveled in it, let it consume him. 

His brow furrowed in irritation when a small noise from somewhere to their left pulled Dean out of his fog. He moved away from Castiel reluctantly to look towards the doors leading out to the rest of the gym. It had sounded almost like the creak and click sound of the door closing, but he didn’t think Charlie could be back so soon. There was no one else around. 

Castiel had either not heard the noise at all or else was wholly unperturbed by it. He’d kept Dean close against him with an arm around his waist and his mouth at Dean’s jaw and neck. Dean’s eyes slid shut again and he promptly forgot the noise when Castiel began nibbling and licking along his collar bone. His fingers sunk into Cas’ wet hair and he tilted his pelvis forward, groaning when he felt Castiel’s erection rub against the crease of his groin.

“W— _ah_ —wait a sec,” Dean gasped, feeling suddenly brave, and Castiel loosened his hold on him. Dean took his wrist and pulled him through the water to the steps, nudging him to sit on the lip of the pool with his feet planted on the top step. Castiel looked confused but sat, and Dean ducked under the water briefly, hoping to cool the flush that he just _knew_ spilled all the way down his neck.

When he resurfaced and wiped the water from his face Castiel was watching him, his patient body language belying the arousal in his eyes. Dean pulled himself out of the water and pushed gently at Castiel’s chest until he was lying flat against the floor, looking up at Dean hovering over him.

Dean took a selfish moment to appreciate the view. All the features were familiar of course, but the context was new and exciting. In the planetarium he had done more feeling than looking, but now he took in all he could: the faint flush across Castiel’s cheeks, the blue eyes blinking up at him, pupils dilated wide, the bow of his lips and the soft pink tongue that poked out to wet them. His gaze swept down over the tan torso before him, appreciating the muscle tone and definition, swallowing as he took in dusky nipples pebbled by cold air against wet skin, watching water droplets pool in places and slip away in others. 

Without conscious thought he leaned down to press an open-mouthed kiss to Castiel’s sternum, laving at the spot with his tongue, tasting warmth and chlorine. He dragged his lips to a nipple, scraping his teeth over it gently before soothing it with a wide lick. Castiel sucked in a breath at the attention and Dean smiled against his skin.

He slid backwards as he went, pressing more kisses to Castiel’s solar plexus, along his ribs, against a sharp hipbone. Soon he was hovering over Castiel’s lap; the white boxers were nearly see-through and tented obscenely. Dean felt his own cock twitch. With one hand he traced the edge of Castiel’s underwear before hooking a finger into the waistband. 

“What are you doing?” Castiel asked, sounding broken. Dean looked up at him.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, tugging the sodden fabric down to expose Castiel to the cool air.  

Castiel gulped audibly and Dean felt his stomach swoop. He’d never done this before, had never even _considered_ doing this before, but here he was, eager to give it a try. 

He leaned forward to nuzzle at the V of Castiel’s groin, breathing in the smell of chlorine and sandalwood and arousal. Castiel twitched against him, clearly eager, and Dean laughed softly into his skin before pulling away. He looked up one more time to see Castiel looking back at him impatiently, pleadingly, and then he was dragging his tongue in a firm lick across the head of Castiel’s cock. Castiel whimpered and Dean repeated the motion, lapping against the slit and tasting salt.

This was turning out to be way hotter than he had anticipated considering he was not on the receiving end. Castiel’s hips gave an aborted thrust upwards, his dick just barely brushing against Dean’s mouth. Dean took pity on him, wrapping his lips around the flushed crown and swirling his tongue over the sensitive skin. Castiel brought a fist to his mouth but it did little to stop his low moan from echoing around the room. Dean sank down a little farther, wary of his gag reflex, and sucked, hollowing his cheeks. Castiel’s cock was heavy and thick and warm on his tongue and he laved at the underside as best he could. A shaky hand found its way into his hair and Cas’ hips twitched upward again, seemingly of their own accord.

“Dean, _fuck_ , that feels—“  

Dean brought a hand to rest against a shaking thigh for leverage, eager to try and take more in if he could, wanting to hear what other sounds he could pull from Castiel—

Suddenly, there were loud footfalls echoing in the hallway beyond the door and icy dread raced through his veins. He pulled his head up to find Castiel looking a bizarre mix of panicked and pleasured.

Charlie was back.

They scrambled to appear decent, a task that proved quite difficult in their present state. Dean’s boxers were dark blue; as long as he stayed crouched, the water would probably distort his shape enough to hide everything until he calmed down. Castiel was not so lucky; he tugged his see-through boxers up and looked around frantically, eventually giving up and diving off the steps to swim towards the far wall. 

“Behold, sustenance!” Charlie proclaimed cheerfully as she pushed the door open, stopping short when she saw them in the water. There was a beat and then she was rolling her eyes. “Seriously guys? It’s thirty degrees outside!”

Dean exhaled, relieved. From the other side of the pool, Castiel smiled at him, looking guiltily pleased. 

Later, after he’d suffered through a cold walk home in wet boxers and spent too long in the shower warming up, he received a text.

_Wednesday, 11:49 PM_   
**_Castiel:_**   _Tonight was fun; we’ll have to find time to finish what we started._

 ** _Dean:_**   _;)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the way back in 2015, I saw [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FCcwkvLmekE). 
> 
> The original, most basic version of this story was inspired by that lovely little short film. It's worth a watch; I bet you'll be able to see which parts I pulled ideas from. =D


	18. Sunday, November 18

Usually, Castiel passed the time during Saving Souls Through Saving Grace’s worship services by getting lost inside his own head; there was a surprising amount he could get done while sitting still and sorting through his thoughts—to-do lists, a review of his most recent research components, some quick brainstorming about lighting for a particular scene in the play—and it offered solace from whatever flavor of rage and judgement was being peddled to the audience. As long as he stood with the rest of the crowd for hymns, no one was any the wiser. 

This week, he was even less enthusiastic about being here than usual. Bartholomew had stepped aside (for the moment, anyway) to make way for a sweet-looking woman who was busy extolling the virtues of mission trips, crocodile tears falling messily as she described the unending rapture of guiding a new soul into God’s grace. 

Castiel wondered dully if she had bothered asking the people who lived in those different countries with different cultural norms and values if they were actually _interested_ in learning about her religion, but he doubted it. More than likely, she had stepped off the plane and told anyone who crossed her path that they were doomed to suffer for eternity until she got a semi-willing listener.

He fidgeted restlessly. No matter what he tried to think about his thoughts always strayed back to Dean, which immediately made his heart rate pick up and sent blood rushing south. He couldn’t risk that kind of reaction here; best to just stay away from that corner of his mind.

At long last, they were dismissed. Castiel shrugged his coat over his shoulders and followed the slowly ambling crowd towards the door.

“Castiel, may I have a word?”

It took all his willpower not to groan out loud, but he veered left into the office where Bartholomew sat perched on a desk.

“Bartholomew,” he greeted tonelessly. “Did you need something?”

Bartholomew gave him a curious look before standing and moving behind the desk.

“Yes, in fact,” he drawled, making a show of shuffling absently through a stack of papers. “I wanted to talk to you about Dean.”

“Oh?” Castiel quirked a brow, his voice purposefully neutral. 

“But first,” Bartholomew continued, bringing a piece of paper close to his face, far too casual, “Do you recall what we talked about a few weeks ago?”

Castiel didn’t even remember what had been talked about last _week_.

“No.”

“It was about that friend of yours, Charlie.” 

Oh, of course. Thank God he had friends like Bartholomew to warn him when it looked like he might accidentally get a bit of gay on his sleeves.

“You were worried she was going to corrupt me.” The words were caustic, accusatory.

“I was. I _am_.”

“You really needn’t be.”

“No?” Bartholomew finally dropped the paper he’d been holding, his brow arched and a cunning smirk breaking out across his face. “Because it seems to me—“ He came back around to lean against the desk, folding his arms in front of him. “—that she already has.” 

Castiel stared blankly.

“I saw you together.” 

“Well, yes, I should think so,” Castiel said, laughing derisively. “That’s what friends _do_ Bartholomew, they spend time together. Sometimes even in public, if they’re feeling adventurous.”

Bartholomew’s gaze turned steely and cold.

“I saw you with _him,_ Castiel. I can assure you, that is _not_ the way I spend time with my friends.”

“Bartholomew, enough,” Castiel huffed, exasperated, “Either speak plainly, or keep your thoughts to yourself.”

“I saw you and Dean at the pool,” Bartholomew seethed, “and what I saw was _disgusting.”_

Castiel felt his blood turn to ice, but he worked to keep his face neutral. Bartholomew was lying, he had to be. Sound bounced and echoed all over the gym; there was no way he could have been there without being noticed by either Dean or himself. Besides, what would he have been doing by the pool at that hour? Castiel and Charlie had been using the pool as a study space for weeks and he could count on one hand the number of people they’d seen wander past. The building was on the outskirts of campus, so it wasn’t exactly a prime location for lots of foot traffic, particularly late at night. Bartholomew was just being an ass.

“I don’t know what you—“ 

“Don’t lie to me, Castiel!” Bartholomew spat, glaring at him now. He pulled out his cell phone and began tapping away. “I didn’t stay long enough to see just how far you fell into temptation,” His nose scrunched up as though someone had stuck something foul-smelling under it. “but I saw plenty. Even the memory makes me sick.” He turned the phone to face Castiel.

His mouth dropped open. On the screen was a picture of the pool and there—slightly blurry but probably recognizable to anyone who knew them—were Dean and himself, wrapped around each other and kissing deeply. Castiel knew, of course, that he and Dean had both been wearing underwear, but it wasn’t obvious from the angle of the picture; it looked like they were completely naked. The picture looked like it had been taken through a door pulled slightly ajar.

A memory swam sluggishly to the forefront of his mind: there had been some noise, a low creak or squeak that had made Dean stop to look around. At the time Castiel couldn’t have cared less, but now he realized it must have been the sound of Bartholomew leaving. He’d taken his picture and shut the door as quietly as he could, escaping with his blackmail material while Dean and Castiel were none the wiser. 

He swallowed, trying to unstick his throat. This was bad.

“Look,” Bartholomew said finally, his gaze softening into something weary, “I’m disappointed, but rather unsurprised. I don’t think you are lost; God is forgiving of those who repent—“

“And what if I don’t believe I have anything I need to repent for?” He knew he should try to salvage this. He should grit his teeth, allow Bartholomew to “help” him and carry on, but the words slipped out of their own accord, damning him further.

Bartholomew sighed. “Castiel, you’ve always been stubborn, which is exactly why I knew Charlie would be a horrible influence on you. Spending so much time around someone who makes such poor choices was bound to take a toll—“

“Leave Charlie out of this,” Castiel growled, but Bartholomew raised his voice and went on talking.

“—if you set clear boundaries with Dean and focus on walking a righteous path—“

“What _boundaries_?”

“—it will be difficult, but the church will support you—“

“Bartholomew, _stop_.”

For a split second Bartholomew looked like he’d been slapped; Castiel very rarely raised his voice in anger, but right now he was on a warpath. He’d put up with this for too long and maybe Dean had been _right_ the night of their first kiss, maybe Bartholomew should be put in his place, maybe he should be reminded that Castiel’s life and choices were his own.

“I have no idea what makes you think any aspect of my life outside of worship on Sundays is any of your business,” Castiel said through gritted teeth, “but let me be clear: I _can_ and absolutely _will_ socialize with whoever I see fit to. That includes Charlie _and_ Dean.” He turned towards the door to leave, but he couldn’t resist throwing one more jab over his shoulder. “You should consider rereading the Bible,” he said, his voice quiet but no less aggressive, “there’s a passage you seem to have missed about doing unto others what you would have them do unto you.”

Two more strides and he would have been through the door and headed towards the building exit before Bartholomew could counter.

“That’s exactly why I have to tell the scholarship committee, Castiel.”  

His hand hovered, frozen, over the door handle. His fingers twitched, unsure.

“I _am_ doing unto you as I would have you do unto me. Should I ever stray as far from God’s light as you seem to have done, I only _hope_ that you’d have the decency to show me the error of my ways—“

“What are you saying?” Castiel asked stonily.

Bartholomew sighed in mock sadness. “I’m sorry to have to do this Castiel—“ The bastard couldn’t have sounded less sorry if he tried. “—but if you don’t stop seeing Dean immediately, I’ll have to alert the officials at Saving Grace. They’ll want to redistribute your scholarship money to someone less…corruptible.”

Castiel stared at him in disbelief, wondering how someone so thoroughly cruel could delude himself into thinking he represented any part of the Christian faith. Bartholomew smiled, though the contempt in his eyes was unmistakable.

He opened his mouth to retort, to yell, to declare that he was hereby abandoning Saving Grace and anything it stood for, _something_ , but no words came. He shut his mouth and, feeling numb, finally made his way out of the office and into the biting mid-afternoon chill.

Castiel lay in bed staring up at the ceiling so long that the room began to grow dark, but he made no move to turn on the light. Vile as Bartholomew’s world views could be, Castiel had never thought him capable of something so cruel as this.

If Bartholomew did reveal what he knew, it would mean a few thousand dollars a semester gone. Worse, once Saving Grace pulled its funding his parents would want to know why, and as soon as they discovered the truth—whether it came from him or from a gossipy churchgoer— they’d stop sending him money too. If both the church and his parents were unwilling to help support him financially, it could mean the end of his master’s program. Even if he got a job tomorrow, there was no way he’d earn enough money to cover a whole semester’s worth of living expenses (never mind what he would still need for the rest of _this_ semester), not with how little time he had outside of research. Similarly, he didn’t have much time to prepare applications for other scholarships, but even if he did there was no guarantee he’d receive them in time to pay his bills—if he received them at all. He’d probably need one of his parents to co-sign for a loan, so that was out too.

He was due to defend his thesis next summer; the thought of having to quit just one semester shy of completion was devastating. Passionate as he was about astronomy, there was no denying that he’d foregone other things in favor of pursuing a higher degree; could he really risk having all his work—the time he’d spent poring over data and piecing together scraps of research and tracking down information in the hopes ofreaching some meaningful conclusion—yanked out of his hands at the last second for someone he’d known for less than a full semester?

Castiel sat up in the dark, full of grim resolve as he scrolled through his contacts. The answer was obvious. It was ridiculous to even consider tossing away several years of work for a month-long fling, no matter how intense and exciting it had been. 

How did he tell Dean? Declaring that he was no longer interested beyond a platonic capacity seemed fruitless; it was a blatant lie that anyone would see through. Then again, maybe he could use the ephemeral nature of their relationship to his advantage, make Dean believe Castiel was just some jerk who dropped people without warning as soon as he’d had his fun.

He sighed, already knowing he wouldn’t be able to follow through. Besides, Dean was sure to ask Charlie eventually and she’d describe him the way she always did: a little weird, but fiercely loyal and unwilling to do things halfway. It would completely contradict anything he had said and Dean would just come back demanding answers.

What if they kept whatever relationship they had a secret? That was absurd; the secret would get out. He didn’t know whether Bartholomew had come across them at the pool by chance or design, but he was certain the bastard would be keeping a close eye on him from now on.

Maybe Dean would understand if he explained Bartholomew’s hold over him…but there was no telling what he’d do afterwards, and if Bartholomew ever found out that Castiel had confided in Dean he was sure to take it as a sign that Castiel had not heeded his warning. He’d pick up the phone to call Saving Grace that very night. 

His thumb hovered over the red “Delete” button next to Dean’s name.

The best option right now was to limit interactions to only those strictly necessary for the play. Mondays were spent holed up in the observatory and this Wednesday marked the start of the Thanksgiving break, so he only needed to worry about avoiding Dean on Tuesday evening. He’d just need to beeline for the control box when he arrived and hightail it out once they were done. After the break…well, he’d cross that bridge while he was on the train ride back to school. 

His thumb pressed against the screen and then Dean was gone (truthfully it was more of a symbolic gesture, since he had the number memorized) from his phone. He flopped back across the bed, scowling into the dark room.

Maybe, if there was even the tiniest shred of luck left for him, he could find Dean next summer after his degree was finalized and try to make things right. If not, Castiel would have to make do with his brief but vivid memories.


	19. Thursday, November 22

Castiel was frequently glad that no one in his immediate family was particularly talkative, but this was one of those rare times where he wished for chatter to listen to.

Instead, the soundtrack for his thoughts was the wet scrape of a vegetable peeler against the potato in his hand and the steady _shick-clack, shick-clack_ from across the kitchen where his mother diced onions. Rustling pages chimed in sporadically from where his father was reading in the living room.

In a few hours, the house would be much more lively; between his aunt’s endless stream of chatter (Castiel could not _believe_ she was related to his strait-laced, laconic mother), his uncle’s story-telling, and the varied ages and energies of his cousins, he was sure to be well-occupied for most of the evening. Now however, he couldn’t keep guilt and regret from seeping into his thoughts.

Wednesday afternoon had found him lying on his bed, bleary and drunk, thinking about Dean’s eyes and wishing the feeling of warm, freckled skin under his fingertips and the smell of earth and leather were more than just ghosts. He’d gone back and forth with himself for hours, alternating between certainty that he was doing the best thing for himself right now and guilt at his cowardice and inability to stand up to people who deserved to be knocked down.

Escaping Tuesday’s rehearsal unscathed had been misleadingly fortunate. Although he had successfully avoided any direct interaction, he’d gotten home to texts from Dean asking after him. His prayers that if he simply never replied Dean would get the hint went unanswered; by the time he got off the train in his hometown around noon on Wednesday there were more messages, none of them indicating that Dean had figured out he was being purposefully ignored. Castiel quickly realized the flaw in his plan; until Dean decided for himself that Castiel was a forgettable jerk, he’d continue trying to make contact. Text messages hurt enough; he knew he would come apart if Dean stood before him and demanded attention.

Whether he kept giving him the silent treatment or sent him away explicitly, Dean would eventually hate him. Prolonging the inevitable just gave Castiel time to reconsider, find a silver lining where there wasn’t one.

And so he’d sent a text—just one, only two sentences—before rolling over and sleeping until dinner time. When he could bear to read them, hours later, the replies made his eyes prickle and his throat feel like it was stuck closed, but at least it was done.  

He rinsed the peeled potato before adding it to the bowl beside the sink. His father would mash them by hand later.

“Castiel,” his mother said without looking up from her cutting board, “I wanted to speak to you about something.”

He waited for her to continue, mentally calculating which was more likely: another lecture on the importance of participating in worship while at school, or another attempt to convince him to return to the medical field.

“I had lunch with Dolores on Monday,” she said neutrally, scraping the freshly diced onion into a bowl and setting carrots on the cutting board next. 

“Oh?”

“Mmhm,” his mother hummed, “She’s looking forward to seeing you again this Sunday.”

“That’s…nice.” 

Dolores was histrionic and overly fond of too-tight hugs. Castiel suspected the only reason his mother saw her regularly outside of church was because her husband was the treasurer of Saving Grace, making him partially responsible for his scholarship.

“She mentioned to me that her husband received a very interesting phone call,” she went on, though now it sounded like she was feigning informality, “from Bartholomew.” 

His hand slipped and the vegetable peeler shaved against the side of his thumb as the potato thudded against the bottom of the sink. He swore quietly to himself before pulling the finger into his mouth as blood welled up. His mother didn’t turn around.

“What was it about?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“Apparently he was rather vague—“ The sliced carrots joined the bowl of onions. _Krrzh-krrzh_ went the pepper grinder over the vegetables. “—but Dolores seemed to think he was implying that you were not spending your time at school wisely.”

Castiel turned back to the sink, letting out an exasperated huff. “I thought you agreed that as long as I was pursuing a hard science—“

“That’s not what I mean, Castiel.” Her voice was firm, admonishing. “You’ve been spending time with sinful people.”

Bartholomew’s phone call had been a demonstration then, a warning shot to show that his threats were not empty. His panic lessened somewhat, but he gripped the edge of the sink like a vice in a futile attempt to quell the anger that rose in its place.

“I thought we were _all_ sinners,” Castiel mocked. The intonation was lost on his mother. 

“We are,” she sighed, “and it’s good of you to be so willing to forgive people for that.” Castiel closed his eyes and took a slow breath in. “But it’s important that you don’t overlook the difference between people who are willing to atone for their mistakes and people who actively live a life of sin.” She began peeling a head of garlic. 

“Bartholomew doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” he said eventually, once he felt like he could open his mouth without yelling.

“Well,” his mother said doubtfully, “I hope you’re right. It would be embarrassing for all of us if Dolores thought you were behaving in a way that did not reflect the values of Saving Grace.” There was a pause. “Especially if she told her husband.”

Castiel pushed off the sink and left the kitchen. His father looked up from his paper as Castiel shoved his feet into his winter boots and pulled his coat on. 

“Going somewhere?”

“Just for a walk,” Castiel all but grunted, “I’ll be back soon.”

When he returned an hour later, the house was warm from the oven and the smell of cooking food had permeated the entire first floor. Feeling calmer, he offered his help with preparing the remaining dishes. Before he knew it, the sky was growing dark and his mother was flitting about cleaning the already-spotless house in preparation for their guests. 

“They’ll be here soon,” his father insisted when he saw Castiel hurrying up the stairs. 

“I’ll be right down,” he called over his shoulder. He just wanted a moment of privacy before the festivities started. He snatched up his phone from where he’d left it on the bedside table, holding his breath as the screen came to life.

No notifications. He exhaled.

He didn’t know what he’d been expecting. He’d never replied to any of the six messages Dean had last sent, so there was no reason to expect any new messages in turn. The knowledge didn’t stop him from hoping for some unknown, unforeseen resolution to this whole mess.

For what must have been the hundredth time since last night, he opened the conversation with Dean, scrolled a short ways up, and began reading. 

 _Tuesday, 8:59 PM_  
**_Unknown:_**   _I can’t believe I missed you today_  
**_Unknown:_**   _you practically ran out of the theatre, you ok?_

He’d gone straight to the control booth when rehearsal had started and was rushing out the door before Donna had even finished saying “And, scene!” He couldn’t lie directly to Dean’s face; if Dean caught him before he could leave, he would never be able to say what he needed to. Even if he could, he knew that whether Dean reacted angrily or understandingly, Castiel would be taking it all back in seconds. Bartholomew had been nearby; he couldn’t risk any contact that wasn’t a clean break.

_Tuesday, 11:43 PM_  
**_Unknown:_**   _my train doesn’t leave until noon tomorrow_  
**_Unknown:_**   _let’s find time to say goodbye before the break? :)_

 _Wednesday, 10:07 AM_   
**_Unknown:_**   _Cas?_

 _Wednesday, 11:52 AM_   
**_Unknown:_**   _well, I’m sorta bummed that I didn’t get to say goodbye, but have a good Thanksgiving! I’ll see you when we get back :)_

_Wednesday, 3:36 PM_  
**_Castiel:_**   _Being with you was a mistake. Please don’t contact me anymore._  

 _Wednesday, 3:44 PM_   
**_Unknown:_**   _what the fuck?_  
**_Unknown:_**   _Cas what do you mean? can we talk about this?_  
**_Unknown:_**   _answer me you son of a bitch, you owe me an explanation_  
**_Unknown:_**   _mistake huh? which parts were the mistake? inviting me to the planetarium? kissing? do you draw the line at me sucking your dick? I was ready to write the first thing at the pool off as a random fuckup, but you’re the asshole that suggested we ‘see what happens’. I had a freaking sexuality crisis because of you, really glad it turned out to be worth the stress. terribly sorry that I was such a big fucking mistake for you. thought you were at least decent enough to tell me to fuck off in person._   
**_Unknown:_**   _you know what? fine. no more contact? you got it._  
**_Unknown:_**   _coward._

The rational part of his brain kept whispering that he was only torturing himself, that he needed to delete the conversation thread and hurry up with getting over this. It had only been three weeks, after all; whatever there had been between them constituted a quick fling at best. His finger hovered over the red delete button.

He couldn’t do it.

Downstairs, the doorbell rang and was succeeded almost immediately by the loud voice of his aunt exclaiming her greetings. He clicked out of the message app and plodded back downstairs, plastering on a smile just in time to be squeezed into a warm hug. 

Everyone praised the meal and its cooks, but Thanksgiving dinner may as well have been ash in his mouth.

Halfway across the country, Dean scowled angrily down at the inner workings of a 1973 Dodge Charger.

“What’s the matter with you, boy?” asked a gruff voice from the doorway leading into the house, “You look like someone threatened to key up your Baby.”

Dean peered out from under the hood of the car at his uncle Bobby, the deep furrow in his brow easing into a tired grimace. Bobby came closer, offering a grease rag.

“Nothin’, Bobby,” he assured, taking the rag and wiping off his hands, “Just can’t get this engine to turn over.” 

“Well, take a break,” Bobby said, “Ellen’s brought out the blackberry pie.” He clapped a hand against Dean’s shoulder and gave him a small shake, smiling.

“Yeah,” Dean said absently, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

He ducked under the hood again, missing the surprised and concerned look on Bobby’s face at his lack of enthusiasm.


	20. Thursday, December 6

Dean’s mood had been irretrievably soured for almost all of Thanksgiving break. There had been small reprieves here and there—truly nothing could comfort him like a hug from his aunt Ellen— but Castiel’s message and subsequent silence loomed in the corners of his mind. On Sunday, he’d willed himself to stop replaying their entire… _whatever_ it had been over and over again to find some sign that things would fall apart, some place he’d misstepped. Luckily, Sam had been content to spend most of the drive back to school sleeping off all the Thanksgiving food.

On Monday, he had felt okay; still generally irritated but confident that he could write off his experience with Castiel as a blip, an unlucky encounter with some asshole who would eventually be forgotten.

On Tuesday, he spent most of rehearsal fumbling lines he definitely knew, missing cues that should have been second nature, and generally making a fool out of himself. Lisa and Anna had tried to be patient with him, but by the end of the meeting he could see they were frustrated despite their reassurances otherwise.  


Tonight’s rehearsal had been better, but only very slightly. He felt miserable and guilty; whatever crap he was going through, it wasn’t fair to Lisa or Anna or Donna or anyone else that he was letting it affect his performance. The wind picked up as he left the theatre, an icy blast making him shiver and scowl harder down at the ground. A tired kind of anger thrummed in him, half directed at Castiel for being a raging jerk and half directed at himself for being so affected by a raging jerk.

He was pulled (literally, as it were) from his thoughts by an arm slipping through his own and forcing him to match a quicker pace. Next to him Lisa took determined strides, tightening her grip when he let out a confused “bluh?” and tried to free his arm.

“No way, Dean,” she said, her voice just as determined as her steps, “Ever since we got back from break you’ve been a zombie.” Dean didn’t deny it.

“Where are we going?” He knew he sounded miserable and crabby, but Lisa was undeterred. 

“For a drink,” she stated. “You’re going to tell me what’s bothering you and we’re going to figure out how to keep it from making you forget your lines.”

Dean slowed his steps again, feeling pathetic and guilty. He was going to ruin this for Lisa and everyone else who’d worked hard all semester just because he couldn’t handle being dumped. Lisa stopped and turned to face him. 

“Dean…” Her voice was softer now, worried. “I’m not blaming you for forgetting lines. Sometimes shit happens that makes it hard to focus. Trust me, I know. _But_ —” She reached up to squeeze his shoulder. “—opening night is in less than two weeks, so we’re gonna find a bar, have a shot, and figure out how to deal with it.”

Dean would deny it with his dying breath, but in the face of Lisa’s unwavering friendship and reassurance he was moved startlingly close to tears. He nodded, returning her easy smile with a shaky one of his own, and let himself be led down the street. 

“So,” she prompted once they’d tossed back a shot of cheap whiskey each, “spill.” 

“There’s this…person…” Dean opted out of specifying Cas’ gender at the last second. “…that I’ve sort of been seeing.” 

Lisa nodded and gestured for him to go on. Dean cleared his throat.

“Well anyway, things were going fine—at least, I thought they were,” he scoffed, pausing briefly to order them another round, “but all of a sudden they just…cut me off. No explanation, no apology, no nothing. Just told me not to keep contacting them.” The waitress came back with their drinks and Dean gulped at his beer.

“I know it sounds stupid, and it is,” he added in a hurry, “I only met this person earlier in the semester; we were only together—if you can call it that—for a few weeks.” 

“It’s not stupid,” Lisa assured him. “Did you…I mean, was it purely physical, or…?”

Dean sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, “To be honest, it all happened so fast. The first time was an accident and then…”

“An accident?” 

“We were kind of…fighting?” He could already feel the tips of his ears turning red. “And then instead we kissed.” Lisa was making a valiant effort not to smile. Dean groaned and dropped his head to rest on his forearms. God, it sound so _lame_ said out loud.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh,” she said, stifling her giggles behind the rim of her glass, “I’ve just never accidentally kissed someone before.”

He had to admit, it did sound pretty ridiculous. He dissolved into quiet giggles, eventually pulling himself upright to look at Lisa again. 

“Anyway,” he said, smiling now, “that’s what happened. The short version is that I got dumped and I’m not handling it well.” He raised his glass in a mock cheers before taking another drink.

“I’m sorry,” Lisa said. Then, “Listen, it might be none of my business but this person…are they…male?” 

Dean opened his mouth to deny it, but the words wouldn’t come. He was quiet just long enough to confirm her suspicions.

“How did you know?” he asked meekly. Lisa smiled gently.

“Dean, you’re charismatic and charming and unfairly attractive—“ He blushed at the praise but gave her a cheeky wink for good measure. She rolled her eyes playfully. “—you don’t seem like the type to be this broken up about a hook up unless there were something else going on. Plus,” she added, “I figured if it were a girl you would have just said so.” 

“Listen,” she went on after a moment, “I’m sorry about whatever happened between you.” She reached across the table to put a hand over his and he turned his palm to face up, squeezing her hand tight. “I know we weren’t right for each other,” she said, “but for what it’s worth, I feel pretty confident that whoever this guy is, he’s missing out. You’re an incredible person, Dean, and whoever you’re with, male or female or whatever, will be lucky to have you.”

“Thanks, Lisa. Seriously.”  

She gave his hand one last squeeze before pulling back and tipping the rest of her drink down in one swallow.

“Whew!” she exclaimed, making a face against the bitter liquid. “One more for the road?”

Dean laughed and hailed the waitress. The sullenness that had followed him for the past week and a half had not completely dissipated, but somehow, telling Lisa about it had temporarily pushed his negative thoughts aside. A small win perhaps, but he was willing to take it all the same.

**Tuesday, December 11**  

On some level, Castiel had known that trying to avoid Charlie would eventually prove to be a wasted effort. True to form, she caught him by the sleeve just as he stood to leave the control booth after Donna had called “And, scene!”

“No you don’t.”

“Charlie, I really need to leave—“

“Castiel.” 

Though gentle, her tone made it clear that there was no room for argument. He sank wearily back into his chair with a sigh. 

“It’s complicated.”

“You’ve been miserable ever since we got back from break,” she countered, leaning back in her chair and propping her feet up on the control table, “Normally I would chalk it up to too much time spent with your parents, but you seem worse than usual. C’mon, I’ve got time.” She crossed her arms and waited expectantly.

There was no point in fibbing. Charlie knew him well enough to see through any lie he might come up with and also knew when and where to push to get him to open up. So he told her.  

She already knew about his scholarship and the importance of playing nice with Bartholomew. Before the scholarship through Saving Grace, Castiel would have defended Charlie against anyone who had a problem with her. Afterwards, he’d been open about the terms and conditions of his scholarship—explicit and implicit—and guiltily, meekly explained that he would need to associate with people whose views about their friendship would be…less than friendly. Her strength and continued companionship in the face of snide comments from people like Bartholomew was admirable to say the least. Castiel was eternally grateful for it.

But she didn’t know that his parents’ continued financial support hinged on keeping the scholarship and she didn’t know anything about Dean. Or rather, Castiel _assumed_ she didn’t. As he talked, the corners of her mouth kept ticking up in a knowing smirk, but she didn’t interrupt. Her mouth fell open in incredulous rage when he described his last meeting with Bartholomew and when Castiel was finally done, she pinched the bridge of her nose and was silent for a long minute. 

“Okay, first of all,” she said, holding up a finger and chuckling to herself, “I knew it. I _knew_ he was crushing on you, that _liar_.”

“Wait, what—?”

“Second of all,” she spoke right over him, “Bartholomew, what a fucking _prick._ Why are people like him even allowed to exist?”

Castiel sighed glumly and scrubbed his hands over his face. He had no answer for her. 

“You’re really torn up about him, aren’t you? Dean, I mean.” Charlie looked sympathetic, even sad.

“I know it’s ridiculous,” Castiel said quietly, “It didn’t even last a month, but I—even seeing him on stage from all the way back here is—“ He was horrifyingly embarrassed to feel his eyes prickling. He cleared his throat and willed himself to pull it together.

“Hey,” Charlie soothed, putting a hand on his arm, “It’s not ridiculous. Well, okay, look—the human brain is alarmingly smart about some things and stunningly dim about others, so it’s possible that this whole mess _is_ ridiculous. But that’s not your fault.” Castiel laughed a little in spite of himself. “Seriously though,” Charlie went on, “whatever you’re feeling right now is valid, even if it’s only been a few weeks.”

“Thanks, Charlie.” He put his own hand on top of hers and squeezed gently. Charlie nodded.

“Listen—” She leaned back in her chair again. “Can I be honest with you?” 

“Always.” 

“I think you made the wrong choice.” 

“Charlie,” Castiel protested, trying to keep his tone patient, “it was the _only_ choice. I could make do without the scholarship if I needed to, but my parents are covering rent, groceries, supplies—all my expenses outside of tuition and whatever the scholarship covers. Between my parents and the scholarship, that’s several thousand dollars I’d need to come up with in time for next semester, never mind beyond that; there’s no telling how long it will take me to get a job after graduation.” 

Charlie was silent, pensive.

“Besides, I'll only qualify for the scholarship for one more semester,” he insisted, “Maybe once I have my degree, I can find Dean again and…well…”

“Wait, wait.” Charlie raised an eyebrow at him. “Cas,” she sighed when he frowned at her, “think about it. Fine, you won’t have the scholarship after next semester, but what about your parents? You said it yourself: it may take a while to find a job. Has it occurred to you that…well, you already know they’d stop sending you money if Bartholomew outed you to the scholarship committee. What if Bartholomew sees you running back to Dean after graduation and calls your parents? I assume they’d stop sending you money then, too.” 

He was ashamed to admit this thought had never occurred to him. He had hoped—foolishly perhaps—that once he had his degree in hand he could find Dean, give him an honest explanation, and maybe, if he was unreasonably lucky, Dean would still be single and willing to give Castiel even a glimmer of a second chance. But Charlie was absolutely right; the end of next semester marked the end of his scholarship, but did _not_ necessarily mark the end of his reliance on his parents for financial support. That would only truly end once he was gainfully employed. Until then, he was bound to the moral standards of his parents and, by extension, the church. And that meant being without Dean.

Hell, Bartholomew had a picture of them together. He could bring it to Castiel’s parents any time he wanted, scholarship or no.

Castiel felt his blood boil, furious with himself. _How_ had this not occurred to him before he went and texted Dean? He thought he’d found a way to make it work—acquiesce now and hopefully win Dean over again later—but now that Charlie had laid it out it was abundantly clear that the odds were stacked unfairly high against him. Either he chose Dean and accepted whatever financial consequences that entailed, or he let his parents and the church blackmail him indefinitely, knowing that for every day Dean went without an explanation he would drift further beyond Castiel’s reach.

“You’re right,” he all but growled, hands fisted tightly in his lap, “You’re so right, Charlie, I fucked up. What do I do?”

“Make a new choice,” Charlie said simply.  

Castiel breathed in deep and nodded, invigorated. When he got home he could crunch some numbers, figure out what kind of money he’d need to secure for the next semester, if things went to plan. Surely there were loans he would qualify for, other grants he could apply to; he would make it work somehow.

Maybe it was crazy to be trading his financial stability for someone he’d met so recently, but, well, Charlie had put it best: the human brain was ridiculous sometimes. With any luck, Dean would be willing to hear him out and they’d find a way to get past it. And if not, well, at least he’d have his financial stability.

Castiel stood, heaving his bag onto his shoulder before crossing the room and pulling Charlie out of her seat and into a tight hug. 

“Good luck,” she mumbled into his chest, squeezing him hard. Castiel placed a gentle kiss on her forehead before letting her go and scurrying out the door.


	21. Friday, December 14, Opening Night

“There we are…and…right, you’re all set.” Balthazar stopped fiddling with the outermost layer of Dean’s costume, giving him one final nod of approval before dashing off to someone else. 

Dean glanced at the clock again—fifteen minutes until curtain. For the last few hours, time had seemed torn between racing past at blinding speeds and dragging on for eternity. Backstage was abuzz with nervous excitement as everyone finished donning costumes and applying makeup, easing the collective anxiety by chatting with neighbors or reciting lines to themselves. Donna, flushed but focused, relayed last-minute instructions to the control booth through her headset as she darted around the room.

“Alright, everyone,” she called over the din, “it’s almost showtime! Let’s bring it in for a minute.” She waved everyone over and beamed at the group.

“I am so excited that we’ve made it all the way here!” she gushed, “It seems like just yesterday I was meeting all of you at the mass meeting. You should be incredibly proud of yourselves for all the hard work you’ve put in this semester.” Donna’s smile was infectious; soon the whole group was glowing.

Nerves aside, Dean’s spirits were pretty high; Lisa was owed a lunch or flowers or something for helping him out of his slump. She was the first person he’d confided in about Castiel (even if he hadn’t mentioned him by name) and finally saying everything out loud had lifted a weight from his shoulders that he hadn’t realized he was carrying. Sure, there were residual hurt feelings—Cas had left him hanging without any sort of closure after all—but he felt pulled together enough to get on stage and give it his best, and that was what mattered for the moment. Adrenaline was a hell of a drug. 

“I won’t bore anyone with a long-winded speech,” Donna continued, glancing at her watch, “and we don’t have time for one anyway. The short version is: thank you all for helping me bring this play to life. Remember to breathe, try not to rush your lines, and break a leg!” The room filled with whoops and cheers. 

Minutes later, Donna was tapping him on the shoulder and telling him it was time to head down to the left wing. He followed Lisa, Anna, and Bartholomew downstairs, heart beating frantically as the sounds of the bustling audience reached them through the heavy curtain. Lisa and Anna took turns peering out through a small gap, whispering excitedly at the turnout. Dean knew better; if he got a good look at the audience before the curtain went up, he was sure his excitement would give way to sheer panic.

The lights dimmed and the audience settled. Beside him, Lisa’s hand found his and she squeezed tight, encouraging him. The curtain rose, the opening music faded in, and the spotlights found their places. Dean took a big breath and followed Bartholomew through the fake doorway and onto the stage.  

 **GARCIN:**  Hm! So here we are?

 **VALET:**  Yes, Mr. Garcin.

 **GARCIN:**  And this is what it looks like?

 **VALET:**  Yes.

 **GARCIN:**  Second Empire furniture, I observe.…Well, well, I dare say one gets used to it in time.

 **VALET:**  Some do. Some don’t.

If anyone were to ask Dean how it felt to be on stage, he would have no answer for them. Scenes whipped by so fast that there was no time to form any long-term memories; all of his brain space was focused on the lines he was currently saying, the feelings he was currently expressing, the motions he was currently going through. Everything else was utterly irrelevant. Had each scene been acted out to completion or had they skipped large chunks without noticing? Who knew? Certainly not Dean. In what was surely much too little time Dean, Anna, and Lisa were performing the final scene of _No Exit_.

**GARCIN:**  This bronze.  

Dean reached his up-stage hand out to the object on the makeshift mantlepiece, running a hand over it (carefully, since it was not actually bronze and didn’t weigh much). After a beat he went on, voice pitched lower, thoughtful.

**GARCIN:**  Yes, now’s the moment; I’m looking at this thing on the mantelpiece, and I understand that I’m in hell. I tell you, everything’s been thought out beforehand. They knew I’d stand at the fireplace stroking this thing of bronze, with all those eyes intent on me. Devouring me. 

Dean pulled his hand off the fake bronze and spun around to face the three couches in the middle of the stage, one each for Garcin, Inez, and Estelle, dragging his features into a scowl before addressing Lisa and Anna. 

 **GARCIN:**  What? Only two of you? I thought there were more; many more. 

He barked out a humorless laugh.

**GARCIN:**  So this is hell. I’d never have believed it. You remember all we were told about the torture-chambers, the fire and brimstone, the “burning marl.” Old wives’ tales! There’s no need for red-hot pokers. Hell is—other people!

Voice rising with each word, he emphasized the final sentence by spreading his arms and thrusting them skywards in a dramatic shrug of exasperation. From his left came the swish of Lisa’s dress against the floor as she trotted over to grasp at his bicep.

**ESTELLE:**  My darling! Please—

Dean pantomimed shoving her away aggressively and she pretended to stumble back.

**GARCIN:**  No, let me be. She is between us. I cannot love you when she’s watching.

 **ESTELLE:**  Right! In that case, I’ll stop her watching. 

Lisa whorled around and took up a knife from the table beside one of the couches. She ran at Anna, her down-stage arm raised above her so the audience could see the weapon, and plunged it into Anna’s chest again and again. The plastic blade collapsed harmlessly into the hilt, but Anna made a good show of struggling against her. An incredulous laugh echoed around the theatre as Anna began her next line.

**INEZ:**  But, you crazy creature, what do you think you’re doing? You know quite well I’m dead.

 **ESTELLE:**  Dead?

The knife clattered to the stage floor. Anna picked it up slowly and began stabbing herself in the stomach, still laughing. 

 **INEZ:**  Dead! Dead! Dead! Knives, poison, ropes—all useless. It has happened already, do you understand? Once and for all. So here we are, forever.

Lisa let out a shriek of laughter. 

 **ESTELLE:**  Forever. My God, how funny! Forever.

Dean looked between them and joined in, laughing boisterously.

**GARCIN:**  For ever, and ever, and ever.

They made their way to their respective couches and slumped gracelessly down in unison, their laughter petering out. Dean looked between the two women before delivering his final line to the audience.

**GARCIN:**  Well, well, let’s get on with it.… 

They remained still, leaving the ending scene frozen in place until the curtain had been lowered completely. Even the thick velvet could not keep the thunderous applause at bay. Dean breathed out a sigh of relief and stood up from his couch so the crew could start pulling things offstage. Anna and Lisa came up beside him, smiling giddily. They each held out a hand for him to take and then the curtain was peeling back so they could take their final bows amidst cheers and whistles from the audience.

Dean clapped along as each cast member came back onstage to be recognized, and once Donna had received a standing ovation they were able to exit the stage for good. Dean couldn’t believe he’d done it; it was all an adrenaline-fueled blur in his mind. He barely remembered saying any of his lines but now it was _over_ and he couldn’t believe he’d had the guts to do this in the first place.

Lisa found him tugging off the outer layer of his costume backstage and all but leapt at him. He caught her around the waist and squeezed her tight. Around them, the rest of the cast laughed and whooped and bustled about removing costumes and makeup.

“Dean, I’m so _proud_ of you!” she exclaimed once she’d pulled away. “You were amazing. We all were,” she added, pulling a giggling Anna into her side briefly as she passed.

Dean beamed at her. “I’m glad you pushed me to do this Lisa.” It was true; he never would have thought twice about attending the mass meeting—never mind finding the courage to get onstage and perform an entire play—if they hadn’t run into each other at Teaspoon back in September. Nerve-wracking as this entire experience had been, he was sincerely glad to have gone ahead with it.

“The plan is to spend some time being congratulated by friends and family,” Anna said, “and then anyone who wants to have a celebratory drink will reconvene in the back parking lot. You guys in?”  

“Hell yeah,” Dean said as Lisa nodded enthusiastically.

Out of his costume and with a freshly-washed face, Dean met Sam and Jess in the theatre lobby. Jess squealed and threw her arms around his middle.

“Dean, you were _amazing_!” she gushed proudly, “If engineering doesn’t work out, you should consider a career in acting.”

Dean laughed. “It was a lot of fun,” he conceded, “but I’m not ready to give up my day job just yet.” 

“It really was something Dean,” Sam said, throwing an arm around his shoulders, “I gotta admit, when you first mentioned it, it seemed so weirdly not your thing that I wasn’t sure what to expect. But that was pretty incredible.”

“Thanks Sammy,” Dean said, returning the sideways hug before reaching up to pull at the ends of Sam’s hair, “You know, maybe _you_ should consider acting. Hair like this, you’d never need to wear a wig.” Sam shoved him off, rolling his eyes good-naturedly as Jess giggled.

“Listen, I’m going out for a few drinks with the theatre group,” Dean announced. “Thank you for coming, seriously. I’ll see you back at the apartment?”

Once Sam and Jess had disappeared into the crowd, Dean turned and made his way through the building towards the rear lot, hands in his pockets and a spring in his step, eager to relax with a bottle of his favorite beer. Outside, members of the cast and crew huddled against the cold in groups of two or three, waiting for stragglers. A light dusting of snow crunched under his boots as he searched for Lisa. 

“Hello, Dean.” 

There was no mistaking that voice, even if it sounded a bit more hesitant than usual. It was a testament to Dean’s lingering adrenaline high that he was able to face Castiel with an icily neutral expression instead of a fiery glare. Dean didn’t trust himself to say anything, so he waited.

Castiel gulped. “I…” He seemed to lose his nerve and glanced over his shoulder briefly. Dean followed his gaze and saw Charlie a short distance away. She looked up for a split second to give a firm nod and then returned to looking suspiciously interested in her phone. Castiel turned back to face him and tried again. “I wanted to apologize, if you’ll let me.”

“I thought you didn’t want any contact with me,” Dean bit out. Castiel had the good grace to look ashamed.

“I should never have said that. I shouldn’t have called you a mistake either.” 

There was silence. Dean shivered against the cold and shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. He had no idea what Cas’ goal was here, but he wasn’t willing to freeze to death waiting to find out.

“Cool,” he said, tone as cold as the weather, “Well, if that’s all…” He turned to go in a different direction, any direction that was further away from Castiel. The longer he looked at him the harder he ached, and he refused to let unrequited feelings ruin his night. 

“I was blackmailed!” 

The excuse was rushed and desperate, loud enough that the students nearest them had quieted and were listening curiously. Dean spun back to face Castiel, angry and incredulous.

“ _What_? Seriously man, a thousand excuses you could have chosen and you go with _blackmail_?”

“Dean, please—“ Castiel took a step forward, but froze when Dean glared at him, “I know that sounds crazy and it’s a complicated situation, but I swear it’s the truth.” He took another step forward, carefully this time, hands up in a placating gesture. 

“To make a long story short, I have a scholarship,” Castiel began when Dean said nothing, “and the people who gave it to me are not tolerant of…what we…of our…” He squirmed, clenching his fists by his sides and taking a deep breath. “Of our relationship,” he finished, bright pink cheeks giving away his embarrassment despite his determined voice. There were murmurs from those nearby.

In any other situation, Dean might have been furious and embarrassed about being outed so publicly, but he was currently taking gleeful, petty refuge in the knowledge that Castiel was just as exposed and just as embarrassed. He clearly hadn’t planned on them having an audience, but Dean couldn’t help but think it was fair punishment for his shitty behavior. Castiel cleared his throat and went on.

“Someone threatened to expose me—us—to the scholarship committee if I didn’t immediately cut all contact with you. When I sent you that text, I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought—I _hoped_ that maybe once I no longer needed the scholarship I could explain myself to you, but I…”

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut and when he opened them they looked watery. Most of the theatre group was now listening in, pretense be damned. Dean ignored them, trying to make sense of what Castiel was saying.

“With some help, I came to realize that I was wrong, and…” Castiel took another step, putting them less than an arm’s length apart. “I’ve been miserable these past few weeks, just ask Charlie. Dean, I…I miss you. More than is reasonable, considering how recently we met. More than I know how to express verbally.” 

Dean swallowed thickly, feeling like he was shattering all over again, frozen in place by those blue eyes that were sad and sincere and pleading and resolved all at once. Frigid wind bit at his exposed skin but he barely noticed, focus split between Castiel and the debate warring inside his own head.

Part of him desperately wanted to pull Castiel close, breathe in sandalwood and whisper that everything would work out, that he didn’t want whatever they had started building to be over, that the people who disapproved of their relationship didn’t deserve a place in Castiel's life.

A more rational part of him protested that Castiel had hurt him, chosen the easy way out instead of trusting him with the truth, that in the grand scheme of things they barely knew each other and it was ridiculous for Castiel to be considering giving up _money_ for him.

“Your scholarship,” he rasped, throat terribly dry from the cold or nerves or both. 

Castiel’s eyes softened and one shoulder moved up and down in a dismissive shrug. “I’ve thought about it a lot,” he said softly, “and given the choice, I’d rather have you.”

Against his will, a choked sort of exhale escaped him. He grasped frantically for words but they wouldn’t come. Castiel must have interpreted his prolonged silence as a dismissal, because his features hardened into a carefully constructed mask and he lowered his gaze to the ground.

“Anyway, I’m truly sorry,” Castiel murmured, turning to leave.

“Wait!”

It was much more a frantic plea than an order, accompanied by Dean’s cold hand pawing clumsily at Castiel’s sleeve. Castiel turned back to him, his mask still in place. Everyone watching them seemed to be holding their breath. 

“I don’t really understand what happened here,” Dean said slowly, “but if you want to explain it to me more thoroughly…and maybe privately…” He glanced around at their audience, a little exasperated but not truly angry. “…then maybe we can figure something out.”

Face flaming, he released Castiel’s sleeve and slipped his hand along the fabric until he found frozen fingers. Castiel’s mask cracked around the edges, threatening to give way to something disbelieving and hopeful.  

“Anyway, I—” Dean whispered, “I miss you too, Cas.”

Castiel gripped at his hand like a it was lifeline as his whole face lit up, eyes going wide, mouth spltting into a smile so big Dean was sure his cheeks would hurt later. 

“Dean,” Castiel laughed shakily.

And then Castiel was kissing him, smiling mouth pressing earnestly against his and icy fingers cupping his jaw. Despite the cold, warmth bloomed in Dean’s chest and spread, and he slipped his arms under Castiel’s coat and around his waist, pulling him close. Around them, people cheered and squealed and sighed happily and Dean laughed against Castiel’s mouth at the sappiness of it all.

“Hey!”

Dean blinked his eyes open at the angry yell just in time to see Bartholomew yank Castiel away from him by the shoulder. Castiel stumbled, but once he regained his balance he swatted at Bartholomew’s arm and pinned him with a fierce glare. Dean scowled, confused. Shocked whispers rippled through the rest of the theatre group. 

“Bartholomew, what the hell?” 

Bartholomew didn’t answer verbally, only sneered at Dean in disgust before rounding on Castiel.

“I warned you,” he seethed, “I _warned_ you of what would happen if you didn’t stop this vile behavior.” His words were venomous, threatening and hateful, rising in volume. “I tried to guide you back into God’s light, but the moment you laid a hand on him you were lost. He’s filthy, Castiel, rife with sin and damned to the fires of Hell, and you would throw away your own salvation to burn with him?!” 

“I would!” Castiel shouted back, standing tall and imposing, hands clenched tightly at his sides, eyes piercing and fierce. For a bizarre moment, Dean was both terrified and very turned on.

“I’ll tell the church,” Bartholomew threatened, “and your parents.”

“Wait,” Dean interjected, “Bartholomew, _you’re_ blackmailing Cas?”

“I’m trying to save him!” Bartholomew spat. 

“ _Save me_?!” Castiel roared, “You don’t give a damn about saving _anyone_ ; the only thing you care about is perpetuating your ludicrous ideas of morality based on the absurd parody of Christianity you seem to believe in.” Castiel darted forward, hauling Bartholomew close to him by his collar. “Even if you _could_ save me, I wouldn’t want you to,” Castiel bit out, quieter but no less intimidating, “so go ahead and tell the scholarship committee whatever you want. Tell my parents, tell God, I don’t care. And Bartholomew?” 

Castiel's fist sailed through the air. Knuckles connected against jaw with a sickening crunch and Bartholomew crumpled to the pavement, his split lip staining the fresh snow bright red. There were gasps of surprise from the crowd, but no one seemed ready to help him up. Castiel sneered down at him, wholly unapologetic.

“ _That’s_ for Charlie. She deserves friends who stand up to assholes like you.”

There was a soft gasp from behind Castiel and Dean could see Charlie over his shoulder, looking awestruck and rather in danger of spilling tears if the trembling of her lower lip was anything to go by. Next to her, Lisa smiled softly at Castiel as she reached to squeeze Charlie’s hand. Charlie sniffled and gave Castiel another firm nod. He turned and strode confidently towards Dean.

“Whoa,” Dean breathed. Castiel’s gaze softened slightly at Dean’s wide eyes and slack jaw. 

“That was long overdue,” Castiel said, shrugging and smiling guiltily up at Dean. 

Laughter bubbled in Dean’s chest and he pulled Castiel close for a chaste kiss. 

“Hey,” he addressed the group at large, grinning widely, “weren’t we going out for celebratory drinks?” There were more cheers and sounds of agreement as people dispersed to their cars. Dean didn’t look back to see if anyone had helped Bartholomew up; he didn’t much care.

“C’mon,” Dean said in Castiel’s ear, giving his hand another squeeze, “Let me introduce you to my Baby.”


	22. Wednesday, December 19 Part 1

Five days later found Dean exiting his last final exam and squinting against the too-bright sun, undecided as to whether he wanted to sleep for three days or claw his way out of his own skin. It always took a little time to adjust to the idea that the semester was truly over.

He hadn’t seen Castiel since opening night; once at the bar, they’d only lasted a few drinks before sneaking away, tipsy and giggling, to the men’s room for a particularly heated reunion that probably would have gotten them both arrested if Balthazar hadn’t found them. After that, it had been quickly concluded that if either of them had any hope of finishing the semester strong—Dean had two more exams to study for and Castiel had his gravitational waves presentation—they would need to stay out of each other’s orbit for the time being.

Now, Dean sent off a quick text to Castiel announcing the official end of his semester, noting his distinct lack of plans for the remainder of the evening. By the time his apartment door was clicking closed behind him exhaustion had won out; he barely managed to kick his shoes off before collapsing into bed.

Several hours later, the sound of Sam bustling around in the living room roused him. He blinked against the beam of late afternoon light that had found its way between his blinds and sat up, fishing for his phone amidst the blankets. A new message waited for him, just over half an hour old. 

 _Wednesday, 3:40 PM_  
**_Castiel:_**   _My presentation was well-received. I don’t want to look at any stars for at least a week._

Dean chuckled sympathetically. 

 _Wednesday, 4:11 PM_  
**_Dean:_**   _I bet._  
**_Dean:_**   _want to come over? I have beer_  
**_Dean:_**   _and you can finally explain what the fuck happened with Bartholomew_

 ** _Castiel:_**   _Yes, you are certainly owed that explanation._  
**_Castiel:_**   _I hope you aren’t opposed to me dressing down. I’ve been in a suit all day and I’m quite sick of it._  

 ** _Dean:_**   _Not at all :)_

 ** _Castiel:_**   _< 3_  
**_Castiel:_**   _Send me your address. I’ll head over in an hour._

Smiling, Dean hopped out of bed and gathered the things he needed for a shower, pausing to survey the room long enough to determine that it could use some tidying. He whistled on his way to the bathroom, chuckling at the tired, indignant look Sam gave him when he reached up to ruffle his hair on his way past.

Dean knew he and Castiel had a lot to talk about tonight; he’d fought hard not to let his mind wander away from study material in the direction of speculations about Bartholomew, but now that exams were over he was itching for answers. Moreover, there would need to be some discussion about the future of his and Castiel’s relationship. As far as Dean could tell they were both in equally unfamiliar territory, which made it hard to guess at what the favored resolution would be.

Although, Dean certainly had his own hopes about where they would end up. 

And even though he knew there was so much to get through, Dean took more time getting ready than he might have otherwise. He indulged in a long shower, donned his favorite sweats, and darted around his room picking up stray clothes and removing empty dishes.

Okay, so he was sort of hoping that after they were done talking themselves hoarse, they could get a little naked. H e wasn’t a saint with entirely pure motives. Whatever.

A knock at the door startled him, but he swallowed against the swarm of butterflies in his gut and hurried to drop off the last of the dishes in the kitchen sink. Sam’s room was closer to the door, so Dean busied himself with looking as casual as possible as he tugged two cold beers out of the fridge. 

“Hi?” He heard Sam say—more question than greeting—to Castiel.  

“You must be Sam,” came the rumbling reply, and Dean turned just in time to see Sam grasp Cas’ outstretched hand in a firm shake. “I’m…a friend of Dean’s.” 

Though likely imperceptible to anyone else, the slight hesitation was not lost on Dean. He didn’t exactly know what that pause meant, wouldn’t know until they’d had a good long talk, but it sent the butterflies aflutter in his stomach nonetheless. Castiel’s face brightened when he spotted Dean and he felt a smile start on his own face.

“Sam, this is Cas; he handled all the lighting for the play,” Dean explained.

“Oh, cool. Nice to meet you,” Sam said amicably, stepping aside to let Castiel through the door. “Dean, I’m heading over to Jess’ place for a while. Might end up staying the night,” he said over his shoulder, slipping on his boots. 

Dean held out one of the beers to Castiel—who took it gratefully—and gestured wordlessly for him to have a seat wherever, quelling the ridiculous giddiness that rose in him at the slightest brush of their fingertips.

“Say ‘hi’ to her for me,” he said to Sam, uncapping his beer and plopping gracelessly onto one end of the couch, legs folded under him, “and use a condom, bitch.” 

“Shut up, jerk.” Sam offered him a middle finger without looking up. Castiel’s mouth twitched upwards at their antics as he lowered himself to sit beside Dean. 

The door swung shut behind Sam and then they were alone. Dean wiggled his toes unconsciously and another bubble of giddy anticipation rose in him when he brushed against Castiel’s cloth-covered thigh. He swallowed a mouthful of beer, admonishing himself internally for acting like a fourteen-year-old.

“So,” he said, feigning nonchalance as best he could, “how did your presentation go?”

Castiel hummed thoughtfully, the corner of his mouth turned upwards again as though he knew that wasn’t the question Dean really wanted to ask.  

“It went just fine,” he said after a moment, eyes cast downwards to where his thumb flicked against the peeling label on his bottle, “but it took up most of my day and I’m glad it’s over with.”

Dean chuckled, half sympathy half nerves, and dropped the false casualness.  

“Fair enough,” he said, forcing himself to look at Castiel directly, “Why don’t you tell me a story instead?”

Castiel chuckled too, taking a gulp of his own beer before turning more fully to face Dean. 

“Alright,” he agreed, “Once upon a time, there was an asshole named Bartholomew…”

“Jesus _Christ_!” Dean exclaimed, not for the first or fifth or tenth time. “You weren’t exaggerating, he was literally blackmailing you. I know ‘ _thou shalt not blackmail_ ’ isn’t one of the ten commandments, but surely it’s up there somewhere on the list of ‘ _Things Good Christians Don’t Do_ ’ right?”

Castiel rolled his eyes so hard Dean could almost _hear_ it.

“Don’t even get me started,” he groused, “I knew Bartholomew was a jerk, but blackmail is low even for him.” 

“So, wait,” Dean interrupted, leaning forward briefly to place his empty bottle on the coffee table, “Cas, after Friday, did he…make good on his threats?”

Castiel didn’t answer for a moment, returning his gaze to his lap. 

“Yes,” he said quietly, putting an end to the tense pause, “He called the church that night.” 

Dean waited for elaboration, but silence settled uncomfortably around them once more. Castiel’s beer bottle joined Dean’s on the coffee table.

“And?” he pressed when he could wait no longer. Castiel looked up at him, his expression grim and resigned.

“My parents called on Saturday,” he admitted glumly, “The church rescinded my scholarship and my parents are no longer willing to pay the rest of my living expenses.”

“Cas…” Dean was at a loss. Castiel’s confession on Friday had been passionate and heartwarming and _surely_ he knew then exactly what was at stake or he wouldn’t have said anything to begin with, but…

But it left him with significantly less money than he’d planned on having and probably meant he’d have to make some pretty big changes to stay afloat. Was it worth it?

Was _Dean_ worth it? 

The question clawed at his throat, but even asking something like that seemed too presumptuous. Less than four months ago they had been complete strangers; in movies and books this was a happy ending, a grand romantic gesture that marked the beginning of a happily-ever-after relationship, but this was real life. In real life, all the loose ends that mysteriously vanished once the credits rolled still existed, still hung angrily around them and demanded to be dealt with. 

“I…Cas, you—“ Dean swallowed around the lump in his throat. “You’re…I’m not worth—“

“Dean.”

He started when a hand landed on top of his own, large and warm, and squeezed gently. Slowly, Dean’s bleary eyes found Castiel’s determined ones.

“I promise, I’m not disappointed by the outcome. Well, that’s not true—I _am_ disappointed, but not about losing my financial aid.” A thumb brushed back and forth soothingly over the back of Dean’s hand. “I’m disappointed in Bartholomew, in Saving Grace, in my parents. But I’m glad to finally feel free of the hold they had over me.” Another squeeze to his hand. Dean searched Cas’ face for any sign of doubt and found none.

“I meant what I said on Friday,” Castiel said, his voice lower and rumbling over every word, “I’d rather have you. If—” He drew away slightly, suddenly shy. “If that’s what you want, I mean.”

Dean breathed a shaky laugh and turned his hand in Castiel’s to face palm-up, giving a reassuring squeeze of his own. Castiel’s expression lightened.

“Where do we go from here?” Dean asked, feeling calmer. Castiel thought for a moment.

“Dinner?” 

“Dinner sounds good.”

Dean glanced at the clock above the stove, only a little surprised to find they’d been talking for nearly two hours. Castiel’s fingers were still wrapped around his own and Dean was suddenly very tired of talking. The butterflies had mostly dissipated in his anger about what Bartholomew had put Castiel through, but now they returned in full force. This time, their wings beat in excited anticipation instead of nervousness.

“But first,” he said, slipping his most impish grin into place and starting to rise from the couch, “we could go to my room?”

Castiel clutched at Dean’s hand and followed with hungry eyes.


	23. Wednesday, December 19 Part 2

No sooner had Dean pressed the bedroom door shut than Castiel was grabbing for him, turning him around so that his back was against the door. A hand came up to the back of his neck and tugged, bringing their mouths eagerly together. Dean fumbled behind himself for the lock (just in case Sam returned), thoroughly distracted by the warm, insistent pressure of Castiel’s unrelenting kisses. It did not help his focus when Castiel’s other hand came to his hip and squeezed, large and hot, before sliding up his side.

At long last the lock clicked into place and Dean hummed lowly against Castiel’s lips, wrapping arms around his waist and gripping at the soft material of his t-shirt, marveling somewhere in the back of his lust-glazed mind at the way Cas filled his arms, at how well they seemed to fit together. 

He meant to flick his tongue teasingly against the seam of Castiel’s mouth, but Castiel was one step ahead and instead their tongues slid hotly against each other. A rumbling, appreciative sound found its way out of Castiel’s throat as they relearned each other and Dean repeated the motion, more confident than he’d been any of the previous few times they’d done this. 

Dean felt greedy and it was difficult to decide how to channel it. He wanted to feel Castiel against him from head to toe, was unwilling to relinquish the insistent, open-mouthed kisses falling against his lips, couldn’t stop running his hands firmly across Castiel’s back and up and down his sides, but he simultaneously wanted more more _more_ , wanted to press his hips against Cas’ without so many layers in the way, _needed_ to feel as much bare skin under his palms as he could.  

Castiel took the decision away from him, sliding his lips and tongue along Dean’s jaw and down the side of his neck where he laved wet kisses against any skin he could reach. Dean tipped his head back against the door and sighed contentedly, the sound giving way to a giggle.

“I guess this makes me easy, huh?”

“Hmm?” The sound was muffled against his jugular.

“Letting you into my bed before you buy me dinner,” Dean clarified, interrupting himself with a sharp exhale when Castiel scraped his teeth over a sensitive spot.

Castiel chuckled and Dean felt the smile against his skin.

“I bought you a drink at the bar on Friday,” Castiel pointed out, peppering kisses generously against his collarbone now, “Surely that counts for something?”

“I’d say so,” Dean breathed, hips twitching up unconsciously, searching for friction, “I’m here, after all.”

Castiel ended the conversation by connecting their lips again, pushing his hips forward, and a low groan escaped one of them at the contact. He coaxed Dean away from the door with clutching hands and Dean followed him farther into the room, let himself be maneuvered around until he felt his comforter brush the backs of his knees. Castiel gave him one more fierce kiss before pushing in the middle of Dean’s chest until Dean lost his balance and fell backwards onto the bed with a soft _flump._

He felt the mattress dip next to his hip and then his view of the ceiling was obstructed by Castiel. It was well into the evening now; with the sun long set, their only light came spilling yellow-warm from the streetlamp just outside the bedroom window. Despite the shadows cast across him, Castiel’s eyes were as bright as ever and he paused, mouth parting slightly on a slow exhale, surveying the view from where he loomed over Dean.  

Dean kept still even as his heart beat hard against the inside of his ribs, admiring Castiel’s tousled hair and kiss-swollen mouth. He was reminded of their last tryst at the pool, where he had looked up at Castiel from the water and seen a quiet power simmering beneath his skin. He looked much the same now, although his arms weren’t crossed and the carefully neutral, almost commanding expression he’d worn then had been replaced by a sort of debauched wonder. 

And they were both wearing significantly more clothes. Dean lifted his shoulders off the bed and stretched until his fingers just barely caught the hem of Castiel’s t-shirt. With a quick tug Castiel fell forward, boxing Dean in with his knees on either side of Dean’s hips and hands on either side of Dean’s face. Dean turned to nuzzle against a wrist and brought one of his hands up to close around Cas’ forearm, leaving the other to skim over the limited skin he had access to, relishing the feeling of smooth warmth beneath his wandering fingers. Castiel leaned close and dragged his lips across Dean’s in an unsatisfyingly chaste kiss, smirking when Dean made a noise that was absolutely _not_ a whine.

Castiel pulled gently out of his grasp and rose to remove his shirt, prompting Dean to sit up as best he could and get rid of his own. When it was free he lay back again, dropping his shirt carelessly over the side of the bed, and found Castiel staring, looking almost wondrous again. Dean felt a flush prickle across his skin under the scrutiny and he swallowed nervously (why was he nervous? Castiel had seen him shirtless before now, for fuck’s sake), but Castiel kept right on looking as he pressed his hands flat against Dean’s chest and smoothed them downwards over his ribs, his stomach.

“You’re gorgeous,” he stated earnestly, without even a hint of pink on his cheeks. Dean blushed bright enough for the both of them, reaching out to pull Castiel down on top of him. 

There was, as it turned out, a huge difference between thick denim and soft cotton when it came to rutting against each other. At the first touch of their clothed erections a choked moan fell from Castiel’s lips and his legs fell further open on either side of Dean as he pressed downwards again. Dean felt himself shake as he chased the hard line of Castiel’s cock with upward thrusts of his hips. He slid his hands around Castiel’s waist again, dragging blunt nails over his lower back before smoothing over his clothed ass and squeezing, pressing them together even harder.

“Dean,” Castiel whined against his skin, biting gently at the curve of his shoulder, his collarbone, his left pectoral, before coming back to kiss him again, open and wet. 

He could feel his desire to stay exactly as they were giving way to impatience; for the third time they were hard and aching against each other, but they had yet to see each other well and truly naked and _dammit_ they had more than paid their dues. Convincing himself to stop rutting up against Cas was no easy task, but with a quiet growl he finally managed to tuck his fingers under the waistband of Castiel’s sweatpants, arousal flaring at the discovery that he wasn’t wearing any underwear, and shove them down over the swell of his ass. It was as far as he could get from his current position. 

Castiel took the hint and pulled away from Dean—albeit very reluctantly—to stand and shove his pants gracelessly to the floor. Dean propped himself up on his elbows to finally get a good, long look.

He had seen plenty of beautiful people in his life, but Cas was something else entirely. Dean was at a loss for words even inside his own head, incapable of finding adequate descriptors for the person in front of him. He stared unabashedly and Castiel halted in his return to the bed, frowning slightly, but he must have found reassurance in Dean’s expression because he stood a little straighter and let Dean look, one side of his mouth tilting upwards in a proud smile. 

Dean wanted. He didn’t know _what_ he wanted, exactly; maybe he wanted to have his hands all over Castiel or Castiel’s hands on him, maybe he wanted to blow Castiel like he’d meant to at the pool, maybe he wanted to continue rutting against him, maybe all of those things or something else altogether. All he knew was that Castiel’s cock was thick and flushed dark between his legs and fuck, he _wanted_.

His own dick twitched hard, his sweatpants doing absolutely nothing to conceal the movement. Castiel’s gaze fell from his face to his lap and he stood at the end of the bed in front of Dean, flattening his palms over the tops of Dean’s legs and squeezing self-indulgently, nudging them apart with his own leg. His hands slid warmly over the outsides of Dean’s thighs, stopping at his hips and hooking his fingers underneath Dean’s waistband.  

Dean nodded when Castiel glanced at him, lifting his hips as his pants and boxers were pulled off. It was only fair, he supposed, that he let Cas stare the way he had done, but that didn’t stop him from turning red. Castiel’s hands followed his gaze, dragging slowly over Dean’s hips and across his lower stomach, one sweeping across his pelvis and closing around the base of his cock. Dean sighed at the contact and let his eyes slip shut as he lay back, anticipating the upward slide of Castiel’s hand.

He was caught off-guard in the best of ways when Castiel dropped to his knees instead, surrounding Dean’s cock as far down as he could with the wet, soft heat of his mouth. Dean choked on his next lungful of air and hurried to prop himself up on his elbows again, eager to watch his cock disappear between Castiel’s pink lips. 

“ _God_ , Cas—“ Dean gasped, immediately dropping onto his back again. Watching Castiel was a dangerous idea; he was already wound too tight. 

One last suck for good measure left Dean whimpering as Castiel pulled off and crawled back over him, kissing a path up his torso and neck. Dean pulled him down, licking across his mouth and sucking on his lower lip.

“Sorry—if that was—unexpected—“ Castiel murmured between kisses, “Couldn’t help—myself. Needed a taste.”

“‘M not complaining,” Dean murmured back, reaching both hands up to cup Castiel’s jaw, tilting his head and kissing him hungrily.  

“Dean, I want…” Castiel sat up in his lap and Dean mourned the loss of his mouth. “I...would you—” He cleared his throat. “I want you to...to fuck me.”

Dean blinked once, twice, swallowed thickly. The thought had certainly occurred to him, but given the rushed and semi-secretive nature of their past trysts he hadn’t really had occasion to broach the topic. Anal sex was new territory for him; he knew next to nothing about proper preparation or etiquette. He couldn’t say for certain whether or not it was entirely new to Castiel, but based on his awkwardness he was willing to bet that Castiel had at least never been on the receiving end. Still, now that the idea had been voiced, his mind and cock had both registered a sudden, urgent need for it. 

“Cas,” Dean said, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but, uh…” He gulped, embarrassed. “…do you know what you’re doing? Because I sort of…don’t.”

It was hard to tell in the dark, but Castiel’s cheeks looked reddened despite his determined expression. “Only theoretically,” he admitted, “but I want to try.”

Dean nodded, eager. “Tell me what to do.” 

“We need lube,” Castiel said. Dean gestured for Castiel to get off his lap so he could twist to reach his bedside drawer. As he grabbed for a bottle of clear liquid, a square bit of foil caught his eye.

“Oh,” he said belatedly, “Condom too, or…?”

Castiel worried his lower lip between his teeth for a moment, then shook his head.

“I don’t have any STDs,” he said matter-of-factly, “If you don’t either, then…”

“I’m clean,” Dean assured hurriedly, making a mental note to send Jess flowers for frequently encouraging him and Sam to get fully tested any time they had blood work done. 

Castiel shuffled to lie down in the middle of the mattress, reaching for the bottle of lube next to Dean and flicking the cap open with his thumb.

“Help me?” 

His voice was coy, but even in the dark Dean could see nervousness flicker over Castiel’s face. He nodded, smiling reassuringly and trying not to let his own lack of knowledge freak him out. Once he had rearranged himself to face Castiel he leaned forward, pulling Castiel’s earlobe between his teeth and nipping gently.

“Just tell me how to help,” he whispered against the shell of Castiel’s ear, relishing the shudder it produced. 

“Be generous with the lube. Start with one finger,” Castiel instructed quietly, “and Dean, go…go slow.”

Dean nodded as the open lube bottle was pressed into his hand. He stole a quick kiss before sitting up and tipping some of the contents onto his fingers, smoothing the silky liquid around his fingers to warm it up. Castiel curled his legs into his chest and let them fall open, bent at the knee, exposed, one leg sprawling across Dean’s lap.

He traced lube-coated fingers along Castiel’s pelvis, following teasingly past his cock, continuing carefully over his balls and perineum, slipping across his hole. Castiel inhaled sharply and the muscle clenched under his fingertips. Dean refrained from applying any pressure, choosing instead to rub in gentle circles, smoothing his free hand along the inside of Castiel’s thigh.

Once Cas seemed familiar enough with the sensation Dean pressed forward, fascinated by the way the pad of his index finger dipped in enough to catch teasingly at the rim, pulling another sharp gasp from Castiel.

“Dean,” he encouraged, tilting his hips up meaningfully.

Just a little more force and then he was gasping softly as his index finger disappeared into slick heat all the way to the second knuckle. Castiel’s breathing stuttered and he arched, pushing his hips back against Dean’s hand. 

“How does it feel?” Dean asked, dragging his eyes up to Castiel’s face. His brow was furrowed in concentration, but he didn’t look pained or displeased. 

“Unfamiliar,” came the honest answer, “but not bad.”

Dean twisted his finger experimentally, watching Castiel’s expression as he slid it out and pushed back in, nearly all the way this time. He repeated the motion a few times, wondering at the tightness and trying to figure out how on Earth he’d be able to get a second finger in, let alone anything else.

Castiel wrapped an arm under the leg that wasn’t in Dean’s lap and pulled gently, opening his legs wider. Dean took this as an encouraging sign and removed his finger completely, returning with two fingers this time and pressing in slowly, hesitantly. 

Castiel grunted a little at the stretch and Dean stilled, waiting until he felt the muscle unclench just a little before pushing forward again, marveling at how Castiel felt around him. His neglected cock throbbed between his legs and Dean fumbled with the lube one-handed, spilling some messily into his palm and giving himself a few slow strokes in time with the thrusts of his fingers.

Castiel whimpered and Dean searched his face, worried, but Cas’ pupils were blown wide, lustful, and Dean leaned down to steal a quick kiss in spite of the awkward angle.

Again he pulled out completely, returning this time with a third finger. It took more work to slide all three in; Castiel’s breathing turned labored for a moment and he grimaced, pulling short lungfuls of air through his teeth. Eager to help, Dean released his own cock and wrapped slippery fingers around Castiel’s instead, softened slightly where it lay against his stomach. With a few twists of his wrist and a thumb flicked across the soft head Castiel was soon hard and throbbing in his hand again, alternating between fucking up into Dean’s fist and fucking back onto his fingers. Dean could only watch hungrily, afraid to breathe too loud in case it drowned out the aborted whimpers slipping past Castiel’s parted mouth or the slick, obscene sounds his fingers made as they slipped in and out of Castiel.

He found himself wanting to lick at Castiel’s rim alongside his fingers.  

With a noise halfway between a whine and a growl, Castiel reached to yank Dean’s hand away from his ass. Shit, he’d been so mesmerized by the way his fingers slid in and out, in and out, in and out of that tight heat. What if he’d hurt Cas without noticing—

In one swift movement Castiel sat up and shoved at his shoulder, rolling him onto his back once again, and straddled his lap, leaning down to give him a dizzying kiss.

“Enough,” Castiel breathed against his mouth, “I’m ready.”

He left a lingering kiss against Dean’s lips before sitting up and reaching back to position the slippery head of Dean’s cock against his fluttering hole.

“Cas,” Dean gasped, fingers twitching where they were splayed against Castiel’s strong thighs,“are you sure?” He needed the reassurance one more time even as he throbbed and ached between his legs, feeling ready to burst apart. 

Castiel’s expression smoothed from concentration to something softer, sincerer, but no less fiercely determined. 

“I’m sure,” he said, “I trust you, Dean.”

Then he was sinking down over Dean in a hot, torturously slow glide. By the time the head of his cock had pushed passed the first ring of muscle, Dean was lost; his eyes rolled back into his head and he scrabbled blindly at Castiel’s thighs and hips, digging nails into his skin and swearing brokenly. Another inch and he forced himself to look, needed to see the expression Cas made as he was breached, wanted to know how the light from the streetlamp flashed against the flexing muscles that stopped him from dropping too quickly, had to watch himself disappear inside Castiel’s hot, tight, _amazing_ body. 

When at long last Castiel dropped the remaining distance to sit fully in his lap, Dean shook all the way to his toes, aborted whimpers escaping unbidden. Above him Castiel panted roughly, propping himself up with his hands on Dean’s chest and looking dazed.

The dark room was silent for a moment, save for their combined breathing, and Dean had just come to terms with the fact that he would be lucky to last more than a handful of thrusts when Castiel circled his hips in a slow grind, pulling a whine from Dean’s throat to match the low groan he gave. Dean’s hips twitched upwards reflexively, chasing the silken heat that pressed in on him from all sides, and Castiel made another appreciative sound and pressed his hips downwards to match.  

Dean’s slippery hands found purchase on Castiel’s sharp hips and he used the grip for leverage as best he could, guiding Castiel off as he pulled his hips back and tugging Castiel roughly down as he snapped them up, drunk on the breathy sounds that spilled over Castiel’s lips.  

Without warning, Castiel took control of their pace, grinding his hips down in a filthy swivel before adjusting his knees on either side of Dean’s hips and putting his runner’s legs to work. Thick thighs flexed as Castiel rose up and dropped back down hard, the sound of connecting skin loud and echoing in Dean’s small room. It was all Dean could do to meet Castiel’s thrusts halfway, one hand reaching behind himself to grasp helplessly at his headboard, the other clutching desperately at Cas’ hip as he rode him, stars threatening to burst behind his eyelids.

“Ca— _Cas—_ “ The cry was raspy, full of too many feelings to sort through when his arousal was reaching boiling point. “I’m—I’m almost—“ 

“Me—me too,“ Even broken apart as he was, Castiel’s voice still sounded like rolling thunder. “Dean, I’m coming—“

The hand on Castiel’s hip slid to wrap around his thick cock, strokes uncoordinated and sloppy. A moment later he was spilling wetly across Dean’s chest, head thrown back, chest heaving, back arched, and Dean watched awestruck as a beam of light caught the fervent, pleasured expression on Castiel’s face.

Castiel’s movements slowed as he worked through the last pulses of his orgasm, but it didn’t matter; with one final grind of his hips Dean was toppling over the edge, his other hand joining the first at the headboard, pulsing inside Castiel and thrusting shallowly through his bliss.

Castiel collapsed to his forearms over him, kissing lazily at Dean’s mouth and jaw between gasps for breath. Dean slid out of Castiel with a shudder, managing to bring his arms around Castiel’s torso despite the boneless feeling in all his limbs. After a moment Castiel sat up to reach for the tissue box on the nightstand, wiping off the mess on Dean’s chest and between his own legs as best he could beforesprawling out across Dean. 

“Fuck,” Dean breathed, shifting to nuzzle against Castiel’s soft hair and slinging an arm across his back. “We should do that again.” 

“Mmm,” Castiel murmured back sleepily, “In the morning.”

Dean huffed a laugh and tugged his comforter until it was more or less covering them, already halfway lulled to sleep by the smell of sandalwood and Castiel’s warm weight.

**Thursday, December 20**

“Do you hear that?” 

Dean responded to the grumbling with a groggy murmur, unbothered by whatever had woken Castiel. He blinked against the morning light and found Castiel sitting up, peering crankily around the room for the source of his irritation. They didn’t have to wait long before another muffled beep came from somewhere, causing Castiel to throw off the covers with a huff. 

“Hey!” Dean squawked indignantly at the sudden cold, pouting at Cas’ back as he pawed through a pile of clothes by the desk.

“Sorry,” Castiel muttered apologetically, finally pulling his chiming cell phone from amidst the fabric. He stared at the phone in his hands, expression blank, and Dean felt his hackles rise.

“Cas?” Fully awake now, he followed Castiel out of bed and reached down to pluck a pair of shorts and a shirt from the floor. “Is it your parents again?”

“No, I…” Cas stood and grabbed the nearest pair of pants. “I should take this.” He wandered out of the room and Dean didn’t follow.

It was hard to know the extent of Castiel’s financial predicament. He hadn’t mentioned specific numbers in his explanation last night, but Dean assumed it had to have been a considerable amount of money if Castiel had been willing to put up with Bartholomew for as long as he had. In the back of his mind, a little voice popped up again to ask snidely if Dean thought he was worth a gesture like that, worth Castiel struggling to afford the rest of his education.

Before he could wander any further down that road Castiel was back, his hands on either side of the door frame and his eyes wide with disbelief. Despite his worry, Dean couldn’t pass up the chance to appreciate the picture; Cas looked beautiful in the gray winter light from Dean’s window, his hair soft and ruffled, lips still a bit kiss-swollen, a light bruise just above his collarbone.

“That was my aunt Becky,” Castiel half-whispered, “She got a call from my father…” 

Dean swallowed. “What did she say?”

Slowly, Castiel dragged his gaze away from the floor and up to meet Dean’s. 

“She said that she and my uncle are proud of me for standing up for myself. They…they offered to cover the living expenses my parents were paying for,” he breathed disbelievingly. Dean blinked.

“Cas…” There was no stopping the smile breaking out across his cheeks. “Cas, that’s incredible!”

Castiel stood unmoving in the doorway, blinking slowly and looking very much like he was half-convinced he was still asleep. At last he breathed out a shaky laugh and then he was smiling bigger than Dean had ever seen him smile, his expression jubilant and vibrant enough to light up the entire apartment. In two strides, Castiel crossed the room and tackled Dean onto the mattress in a crushing hug, laughing against his shoulder. Dean wrapped his arms around him tight, squeezing back as good as he got.

They stayed that way until another chime sounded from somewhere by the door. Dean disentangled himself and retrieved his own phone, scurrying back under the covers quickly lest the cold catch him. 

It was a message from Lisa—several messages, in fact—and Dean scanned quickly, letting out a shout of delighted laughter when he reached the end.

“What is it?” Castiel prodded, and Dean turned his phone around to show him. He watched as another smile split Castiel’s face while he read.

“I guess we weren’t the only ones who got a happy ending,” he laughed, dragging Dean into his arms.

“Guess not.” He tangled his legs with Castiel’s, relishing the warmth against his cold toes and grinning cheerfully when Castiel made an indignant sound.

“I’m going to miss you over the holidays,” he muttered against Castiel’s neck. He felt rather than heard Castiel sigh into his hair.

“I’ll miss you too,” he said, “but I promise—“ He squeezed Dean tight. “—not to send any more horrible messages.”

“Good,” Dean snickered, “it’ll make things way less awkward when we see each other in January.”

In lieu of a verbal response, Castiel pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. There was nothing important that needed doing today, so Dean inhaled deeply and snuggled closer, letting himself be pulled back to sleep in Castiel’s arms.

Beside them, his phone sat face-up on the bed, screen unlocked and open to his messages.

_Thursday, 9:18 AM_  
**_Lisa:_**   _I hope the person who decided that 7AM final exams should exist gets put in a No-Exit-esque hell._  
**_Lisa:_**   _I am finally free!_  
**_Lisa:_**   _Listen, I never got a chance to tell you on Friday, but I’m really happy for you and Cas. You seem really sweet together and I can’t imagine he’ll regret snapping you up =]_   
**_Lisa:_**   _And actually, speaking of snapping people up…_  
**_Lisa:_**   _I’m going on a date with Charlie tonight =D_  
**_Lisa:_**   _I have no idea what to wear and I’m really excited_  
**_Lisa:_**   _Wish me luck! <3_

  **And, scene.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact #???: Barring a single <1k word thing from long ago, I think this story features the first ~actual porn~ I have ever written. 
> 
> Fun Fact #???+1: Given all the smut I have read in my however many years in fandom, you'd think actually writing my own porn would be NBD. In reality, the very first draft of all the porn in this story was...kind of hilarious, in my opinion. Imagine, if you will, a friend sitting next to you and narrating a shitty video on pornhub. That, but like, worse. 
> 
> Fun Fact #???+2: Charlie/Lisa was entirely unplanned. I guess I should have known that if I wrote Charlie and Lisa into the same story, Charlie would have no chill about it. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ A happy accident.
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed my work! Comments sustain me (but I'm a little bad at replying. Sorry in advance.) and you should wander over to my beta's and artist's links and take a look at their work too. Cheers!


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